A Sudden Change of Plan
by Xavier Edgar
Summary: Fire, Gunfights, Romance, Death and Passion! My take on a  meld of the Film, the Steven Moore Novel and the Alan Moore Graphic Novel into a new and better ending to one of my favorite stories. Please R
1. Chapter 1

V glared down at the little red domino. One thing. Something was out of place. All of society was collapsing, one pinnacle after the other falling helping, in turn, to bring down the next. The domino, an excellent example, he had always though so, of the phases of a plan. A brilliant plan. But something… something small… just wasn't right. A solid domino right until the end. There are no coincidences. This had to mean something, something in the plan was awry, one domino was crooked. The masked man had spent the best part of an hour trying to figure out what it was. His mind festered.

Eventually he glanced up at the clock, it was almost eleven. He set down the domino on Evey's old bed side table and wandered out the door into the empty gallery. She hadn't come to visit him like she had said she would. Not in three months. V often wondered if she ever thought about him. Probably not. In the years after his escape he had forced himself out of thinking of his captures so he could aim his attentions towards survival. She wouldn't think of him, ever. Not if she wanted to live a normal life, the kind he knew she had always desired. A siren blared overhead, faint but just loud enough for him to hear. He found his eyes on the ceiling before the sound had even started to die away. Her, what if someone was coming after her? But he knew it was just his foolish fears. The first of his patrons, dressed in his clothes, hearts set on freedom would be filling the streets now. There would be many more sirens to come before midnight he knew, but eventually the police would yield. Midnight, he thought wandering into the cinema room, midnight would soon come.

In the absence of Evey some plans would need to be adjusted. He would have to leave later for his meeting so that he did not come back to Victoria station too early and set the train off before the right time. He wouldn't have much time when he got back. He was almost happy for that. Would she care if I died? he thought. Probably not. It might even bring her some joy, some sick consolation. With a start V realised that his vision was clouding with tears. He looked back up at the ceiling. It would be better for her this way. She would never have loved him as he loved her. Some things just weren't meant to be. V urged himself to get his mind off her, but failed.

He had sat in Evey's old room most of today, waiting for her. Feebly. It had once been his bedroom, a place where he would sit after long nights, letting himself be consumed in one novel after another. Now it wasn't his and in a way would never be his again. Her scent laced everything in the room: the chairs the drapes the pillows (especially the pillows). Even after being washed again and again the pillows carried her into his dreams. And when he woke, he would lay there long nights thinking about her. In November, in his last year, in his last moments, she was the most important thing in his life. She was all he could ever think about…Dong… On his final day, when everything was to fall into place, when everything was perfect, when his song reached its crescendo, …Dong…when his dominoes fell, when all that had ever been him, all that he had thought about, had schemed, had practiced, had breathed for twenty long years reached its divine ending… all there was, was her. Evey. Evey. In one year you have become my entire life, my world, my dream.

Dong

I love you.

Dong

I love you, Evey.

Dong

Every inch of you.

Dong

Every iota.

Dong

Oh God. On such a day that you should make me weak at the very thought of you, he thought, you torture me…Dong… V realised he was starting to sweat. He patiently listened for his heart and found that it was humming…Dong… the grandfather clock finally caught his attention

Dong

Dong

V grabbed his cape and hat and made for the door as the eleventh chime died away and stepped out into the abandoned tunnels. This was it, the finale at the end of his strange play. Tonight was indeed a night that would never be forgot.


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark in the tunnels a factor for which Vs senses were well prepared. The masked man skulked through the underground until he found the train, his carriage into the cold arms of death, awaiting him with a smile in its graffiti skin. The door was open. V moved slowly towards it and peeked inside the shell. There was no detonators, no cameras, no voice recorders, it was just possible that he had been careless and left the door open. But even so… someone could have gotten in. It wasn't well hidden nor at all protected. What if, after all this time the bomb didn't even go off? He felt weak and useless at the mere thought. All that work… wasted. His whole life…_no, _he thought guiltily_… this wasn't the most important thing in his life anymore. _But he didn't matter to her at all… _that _was his life wasted.

V examined the cabin for a while longer before the song of Big Ben broke his concentration. 11:30... _11:30? _V quickly pulled a black-spot sensor from his cloak and set off along the tracks; its little red eye watched his cape dissolve into the darkness.

* * *

Two Weeks Earlier

Evey stood with her back to the wall. She had put this off too long. _What would happen if he was angry for her not coming sooner? Did he have a task for her? _She couldn't really picture him angry… not in that way. There had been times when he had been full of passion or frustration… but it was always her that was yelling in an argument, always her who would hit a wall or break something. He just wasn't that sort of person. It was certain to be securely monitored, the entire underground was a maze of electric darkness. He would be able to see her come in, surely. What would happen if there were automatic weapons? _Would he do something like that? _Intruders could have suffered much worse at the hands of V. Suddenly she was filled with regret again, she could leave now and never come back. But somehow… it was better to be here than at home. It always had been. Evey peeled herself off the concrete and plunged into the tunnel that lay ahead, still not sure where she was going. Her hands felt the comforting texture of warm wood. A door. She felt around for a handle and, hesitantly, pushed. He tunnels were suddenly filled with liquid-gold light. Strangely, Evey felt a tingle of joy run up her spine as she stepped in. Although she would never admit it, even to herself, she missed this place, she missed the music and the endless artwork, she missed him. It had been a month and a half and already she missed him. Evey considered shouting his name but found herself speechless. She melted into the smell and the light and the mood. Paper, the smell of paper was in the air and perfumes and dirt and food and… even the scent of the paint smothered her senses. The feeling was intoxicating, so strong so robust, so… V. She aimlessly followed her eyes through the deserted caverns, admiring paintings and statues, once ignored after countless sights, now revisited. It was heart-warming. All her hesitation melted away.

Carved in the yellow wall was a spot of black that caused her to stop and stare at it_, his _room. Evey almost lost her footing, without the use of her brain, Evey's feet found her in the doorway. His room, she was standing in HIS room. So consumed in the thought, she almost didn't take in her surroundings. She looked around behind her, he would have to be home, this was incredibly stupid. She felt herself being drawn away from the scenery of the gallery as she stepped into the room, curiosity tugging against her will. It looked much like any of the other rooms, sandstone walls and floors, heavily decorated in a way that almost seemed as if the paintings and books had been brought there by accident. It was a study more than anything else, yet nestled in-between the stacks of books and papers lay a bed. It all looked very worn, used, dirty, it seemed very un-V like. Yet it was obvious this was the room of thinking man. Uncertainly, Evey picked up a roll of paper which had been laying on the floor and scanned it. It was a building outline for a large house, possibly a mansion of some kind, filled with many small rooms and vast halls. A church, it was the church where Liliman had been killed. Her eyes found the room almost passage instantly then, the small change room where she pulled herself into the ridiculous dress, the long hallway where Denis had pulled her sternly yet slowly by the hand into the Priest's suite. Even the shape of his massive bed was marked on the sheet. She set it down gently and picked up another piece.

It was some time before she checked the door again, the halls were empty. Evey's heart sank a little. She had forgiven him, that much she was sure of. As ridiculous as it was, it was true, she didn't hate him. Earlier that day at the grocers, where she had seen Vicky, that was when she was sure. The estranged look on the girls face, looking into the eyes of a total stranger. It shocked her even now, she was free. There was nothing holding her down anymore, she was invisible. She felt a sort of weird pride she had never felt before. That was why she had come back, she wanted to thank him. Not with words of coarse, but just for reassure V that she didn't hate him. That would be enough. He could take a hint. Evey glared absently at a painting of a naked woman by a brook. If only he was here. Automatically, Evey's mind sought something to hold her attentions while her frustration simmered. Her hand found a large flat book, its cover nameless. This would inevitably be another ancient piece of reading material. Come to think of it she'd seen it somewhere before. The cover creaked as she opened it.

"_His body will be left to whatever the nose or the finger has in store, I would estimated that the police will have arrived within ten minutes of my escape as the monitoring van will be not far away and on this particular evening, it will be likely the men inside it will be quite aware of the events which often perspire traditionally at this time. Evey will…" _

Her name rang in her head like a bell. She almost set the book down but her hand hovered just above the table, unable to drop it. She was holding his diary. Why did he need a diary..?, She thought to herself. A strange idea murmured in her head: _Do you have any idea what this IS?… _it shook her a little as if the books importance was radiating power through the cover. Her body quivered involuntarily at a sudden sound.

There was a "snap" like a whip and the book fell from her shaking hands and onto the floor. _V_! She looked around her, out the door. _He had to have seen her. What was he going to do? _

Nothing.

She scanned for some small movement and found a quiver in the shadows on the bedroom floor. A rats tail floundered onto the sandstone and curled in peace around the wooden trap. She let out her breath. Evey had always wondered how he'd kept this place clean of underground pests. She could hardly keep them out of her apartment on the surface. She bent and retrieved the book from the floor which had fallen face down. It had fallen open to the latest entry.


	3. Chapter 3

Evey sat curled under the kitchen counter in her apartment, her feet warming the fake plastic tiles underneath her. The sounds of the TV purred behind her and, after being ignored all day, finally caught her attention. Her ears picked up the two voices, in juxtaposition, one high and one low; A male newscaster and his female co-anchor, signed off for the night to the London that was their adoring ears.

…. _"BTN, the voice of London" _

She frowned, rolling the words over in her head. BTN… _BTN_… it had been a while since London had heard anything else. She watched the orange and pink reflections of the sunset melt off the sudo-steel cupboards, turning eventually into cool shades of blue grey. Night came. She still sat. There had been a time, not long ago at all, when she would have smiled at the thoughts that coagulated in her head.

_He was going to die_.

Silently hated herself for opening the book "one more time" for just another peak at the words, but as the book creaked her arms could no longer find the strength to lift the cover.

Above her a splash of yellow was thrown into the blue as her neighbour's automatic balcony light clicked on. Evey flinched. The book was dropped and she automatically snatched it back up again. In that second on the tiles it had soaked in the cold from the floor. Evey felt it. She felt it all over.

* * *

"Annie!" Vanessa called. She bustled down the hallway swinging her hips the way only an woman her age and occupation could. The landlord knocked firmly on Evey's door. The knock echoed a little but was absorbed in the cushions and plaster so readily that it landed endlessly soft on Evey's ear. She didn't hear it.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that someone who wasn't thinking about you cared about what you thought. V cared, he cared what everyone thought, as a whole and person by person, because he KNEW what they thought. Almost everyone had an opinion, the same opinion, about Norsfire. And like magic, he brought them their blessings, their dreams wrapped up nicely in a box. It even hurt a little to open one, at least to Evey. It was a strange feeling… and Evey was the only person with it in the world…because she knew he wasn't thinking about her. He thought around her… to the whole people.

Evey would have been surprised if she found out what a lie that was.

His mask stared back at her from its place in the box, its white wreathed in black fabric. All she could manage to do was stare. _knock knock knock! _It was indeed a strange feeling... _KNOCK KNOCK! _"Annie!"*

Just as Vanessa burst in, two hands pulled the bed sheets firmly over the delivery box. The woman squeezed herself in the door, hitting her leg on a potted plant stand just inside. Evey heard her swear as she entered the room. She wasn't the best thing to be reminded of first thing in the morning, but the worst had already come in the mail. Vanessa was a vision of caked makeup, Monday morning attitude, antibiotics and the kind of rum one drinks first thing in the morning to diminish the taste of the same rum from the night before.

"Did you get one too-" cough cough sniffle- "the boxes I mean?" Evey pretended to consider this for a moment with fake confusion on her face. Vanessa, eyed her and then took a step back into the entrance hall. "If you see one, you tell me, I never get my bloody mail, maybe it hasn't come." she put a hung over hand to her wrinkled forehead. "All the news is…" she rolled her lips in search of a word or possibly having lost her train of thought, "BLARIN' on about people in masks. Something about them being infected. All terrorism business! If you get one you tell me, or my lad'll be 'round here checking the rooms."

Evey nodded, unable to think of something any other acceptable response. The other gave her a look and then, not being able to bother anymore with all this door knocking and yelling and government business, skarked out the front door. Evey took the box and put it under the bed for safe keeping.

* * *

Roger's feet quaked on the iron footing above the balcony and the scent of his cigarette trickled down to meat her. Evey looked hazily over the city barely taking notice. Ever since that morning he had been all she could think about. How he had done it, what he would do, if he was out there dressed like everyone else, if his home was safe with all the new weight on the London streets. Did he think about her? Did he miss her? Had he noticed the missing book? Would he be angry?

_He's going to die. _

And she was the only one who knew… so what could she do about it? _Could_ she do anything about it?

There was a stirring above her as her neighbours feet slid across the metal floor above her. He sighed heavily and leaned behind him to close the door. There came a bang from inside his apartment as his wife closed the door with her foot, arms filled with groceries. Then came a silence. Evey tried to re focus on her own problems. _Should _she help him? Of coarse she felt for him now, but _why? _He had helped her but he had also _Tortured _her! And how many others? He could have killed hundreds of people before her! Before she'd met him! And what if all of this… _clunk clunk clunk clunk_

"It wouldn't kill you to at least say hello to me when I come home!" Roger said nothing. Another silence.

"_A yellow-coded curfew is now in effect. Any unauthorised personnel will be subject to arrest. This is for your protection."_

"_A yellow-coded curfew is now in effect. any unauthorised personnel will be subject to arrest. This is for your protection."_

"I know you've had a rough day but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on _ME_!" The woman's voice was full of tears. Evey couldn't help but lose track of her thoughts a little. "You don't even _talk _to me anymore. Not with…all this…fucking…Norsfire shit going on!" Roger continued to smoke as if he hadn't heard her. _clunk clunk _she stomped back into the apartment. "And get inside before anyone sees you! What? Do you want to be killed?" she called from within.

Evey made her own way back to her balcony door, trying to refocus on her own problems. She had had a crazy idea that day at work that came to mind again as she reached for the sliding-door handle. A crazy stupid idea that she had had in a moment of self-confident and recklessness daydreaming. A _plan. _

"AND GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY HOUSE!", came the screeching neighbour wife from above. _clunk clunk clunk running. _Before her husband could stop her she emptied the box out over the balcony.

_clunk! _

A sheet of black fabric caught in the wind and was dragged out above the London street, followed quickly by a hat and wig which had also been thrown. Evey looked down at a patch of white in the darkness. It stared back.

She picked up the mask and examined it, its white skin caught in the moonlight.

A stupid, crazy, ridiculous plan…

* * *

V's boots splashed in the water on the subway station floor, but no noise was made. Up ahead in the tunnel a ray of light appeared. V was up against the wall fast enough to become invisible instantly to the patrolling finger man. His flashlight passed over the mouth of the tunnel without so much as a pause. Everything was going perfectly.

The masked man stepped off of the subway rail and padded unheard and unseen onto the concrete…

…YELLOW

* * *

_* In the book based on the screenplay by Stephen Moore, Evey's fake name after leaving V's home is Annie Champion __J _


	4. Chapter 4

_Yes, finally some violence! I would like to urge you to please review if you haven't so far. If you've gotten as far as finding fan , that confirms that you must be able to type. IF YOU CAN TYPE, PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW!_

Arthur Piggot-Smith had been part of the finger since he was twenty one. Back then all the lads were doing it. It was like being in the army but never getting shipped off. Mum approved, Dad didn't care. Anything Arthur did to make money was fine. Dad told him to go as god told him. He was told that god told him to join.

He had registered during a campaign when Norsfire were just coming into power, it was something new, something good. It was a place to go away from his troubles, on the weekends into the camps in the wilderness. Running, firing guns, alcohol, no guilt, no rules except the military rules. It was like being a whole new kind of human. Better, sleeker, higher evolved. It put him up there in high society, people respected him for the first time in his life.

He remembered coming home in the week and spending time with his friends, always telling them about how great it was in the force. Some of them stopped talking to him, some of them liked him more than they ever had. He remembered coming home and seeing Jacinta at her house. She gave him respect, her parents gave him respect. She was good to him and he served for her country. They got married. Her sister died, just a little thing. God the sickness from the water, Jacinta was never the same after that. Arthur didn't get her respect after that. But she soon learned her lesson… although he couldn't remember exactly how. He had been drunk at the time, he and his mates.

He didn't need her anyway.

And it wasn't like he felt guilty because by then he had killed enough people that he didn't care anymore. He wasn't numbed, he was learned. Arty had always thought of it that way. Killing had made him a smarter man. Of coarse when he joined the inter-city, he wasn't allowed to have a gun. He was almost thirty when his he and mates got in into the IC, but he still could do hand to hand, he didn't need a gun. He was strong and he was smart, that was what he told himself as he entered the station, he was strong and he was respected.

The memory of walking the alley with Willy and Jase* festered in his memory, taking down the girl. Jase had the moves, he did the "sweet talking", the Willy came in from the side, did a little scaring. That was what Willy was good at, everyone was scared of Willy. Willy had been there when China had dropped the orange bomb**. People didn't fuck with Willy. He came up behind. That was where the memory blacked out.

That was why he was here.

Willy and Jase were dead, that was why he had come down here. To kill that terrorist fucker with his own two hands. That was all there was to it. He scanned the walls with his flashlight along the left side while Petey took the floor and Blake scanned for bugs…

…YELLOW. Suddenly everything was engulfed in a blanket of yellow.

* * *

One week earlier.

He was out. That was when she came. Evey wandered through the abandoned gallery in the darkness, a flashlight in her hand scanning the walls for a door. She remember searching these same halls months before, opening old doors to find new places to explore, searching for some way to get rid of her boredom. She came across the room once in the afternoon and since had not gone back in. The weapons room.

She had waited for at least an hour outside the abandoned tunnel, cloaked by the darkness, waiting for him to go out. The creaking of the door, his silent steps. Seeing him again, tall and dark. She couldn't help drink him in with her eyes. It had been so long since the last time she'd seen him walking. Had she ever really seen him walking? He was so smooth, so sleek. She stared at him long after he had turned a corner and was out of sight, her eyes pinned to the stone in place of where her had been.

Evey opened the door. The flashlight's blare wheedled in between the contents of the metal shelves: knives, swords, throwing stars, grenades, bombs, dynamite, detonators and daggers. It shocked her then as it shocked her now. Delicately she reached to the back of the shelf and took two small spheres that looked like some kind of smoke emitting devices. She stuffed them in her bag.

* * *

As soon as the mist appeared V was on the floor, his cape wrapped around his face. There came screams of pain from beside him as fingermen covered their eyes. He crawled towards the exit, the yellow leaking through the fabric and into the holes of the mask. Gas. Mustard gas. He held his breathe. The terrorist slithered up the step and back into the tunnel as the sound of fear-spawned gunfire filled the air. More screaming rang out, fingermen's bullets pierced unexpecting flesh, men stumbled through the mist, clutching their eyes. The sound of Creedy screaming found V's ears and brought a smile across his face. Creedy had been hit, which meant Sutler was in there.

A man screamed and reached for his revolver, aiming it in the direction from which the bullet had come. Another pierced Peter Creedy's side. He squealed. He dropped the gun. The pain shocked through his muscles causing him to spasm and fall to the floor on top of Sutler, still lying unconscious.

Another bullet found the supple skin of his temple.

Arthur stumbled back, firing his automatic into the concrete of the roof. His finger came down on the trigger again and again sending a spark into the inner-concealed firing mechanism which shot the hot bullets.*** To stop his toppling, he threw a foot back but slipped on something and bashed his head against the cement. His unconscious body was soon filled and eaten away by the gas.

As soon as his booted foot had come down on Creedy's revolver the firing mechanism was beared and an ancient switch was pulled igniting the powder. A spark fizzed but was unable to leave the barrel because of the safety switch and, unlike the automatic, the fire was opened to the surface. The fire met with the yellow gas.

V made his way down the tube station tracks, yellow still trailing off his clothes. He ran until he was once again surrounded by blackness and the scent of the fumes was long behind him. It was then that he threw off his mask and gulped in the air once again able to breathe. He lay down on the track, the cold rail soothing against his face.

From behind him came an ear shattering boom. The tunnel's light bulbs shattered, sprinkling glass over his cape and boots. He didn't care. It was over.

It was over and he was alive.

Behind him stood the glorious train, his ship of destiny.

Wrapping one gloved hand around the leaver, he sent the metal beast away.

It was over.

Over...

* * *

*Jase is the bloke in the tweed coat and Willy is his scrawny partner, Arthur is the man who comes up behind Evey with a baton.

**In the Graphic Novel, the reason England is the dominating country, is because America and China wiped one another out with chemical warfare ("orange-bomb" = Agent Orange)


	5. Chapter 5

V sat over his desk, running over the scenario again and again: entrance, _scan walls and floors, set gas bombs, pretend to scan further, v entrance, something?, bombs triggered, gas released, explosion_. It had to go something like that. He hadn't set the bombs… but why hadn't Creedy's men been prepared for them if they were to ones who released them.

The men in the tunnels could have been a distraction set for V while further fingermen closed off the passages and set off the gas to kill everyone in the station? Would Creedy have died just to see V go down? He wasn't that humble. Also there weren't any men outside the room, not that he had seen. Perhapse they had fled?

They could have been old bombs from the reclamation, set up to kill off any disease ridden people who might escape and spread. Then any sudden movements after all that time (say the footfalls or gunfire from a band of Creedy's men) could have set them off. But bombs would have expired after all that time, surely.

Or it could have been possible that a third party of Norsfire supporters could have bombed them to kill V… or V supporters to kill Creedy? V could hardly have been seen after all. But how did the know about the meeting at all?

As much as he tried to assemble the facts, they didn't add up to anything.

He got in the elevator and shuttled up onto the roof in an attempt to clear his head. The sounds of cheering people rang out below him. He didn't dare lean over the balcony knowing surely in such a huge crowd someone was likely too see him. But then, who'd know? He was dressed just like anyone else. He took a chance and looked over the edge and into the sea of Jacobean hats. People hugging, drinking, rejoicing. It was so warm and wonderful, V's heart could hardly take it. It could almost have brought a tear to his eye.

Air wasn't helping.

The masked man sat down on the couch and, after a moments consideration, put up his feet. The television flickered on.

"Help me, Storm! Oh help me!" "Oh Laser-Lass! Release her you brute!" A smile creased V's face at the thought that on a huge news day like today they would still find room for rubbish like _Storm Saxon. _But some part of him didn't want to change the channel, V'd had enough politics for today. He felt right now that he'd had enough politics to last him the rest of his life.

And so he watched in silence has the blonde heroin kicked and screamed (in her tiny, inaccurately torn, liquorice-red dress) with her arms tied above her and "Evil-Ackhmed" (the horrible middle-eastern terrorist) laughed manically and roughly kissed her neck in an extremely unseductive way. V squirmed. In burst the hero, blond and dashing in his chrome, sudo metal, bullet proof spandex, in his hand, a laser sword of some kind, that glowed gold with fake justice.

Behind him lightning crashed and in its wake was "The Storm Speeder" in all its cubic, spray painted, sticker covered glory. In that instant the maniacle evil genius that was the terrorist tunred into a blithering coward backing up against the opposite wall.

"Unhand her you un-English scum!"

"Storm Saxon! How did you find me here? What are you going to do?"

"Oh it isn't me that's going to punish you for you crime! I'll leave that to my friends from the state!"

In burst row after row for busty, brawny fingermen all in black and red who grabbed the babbling forigner by the arms and lugged him out.

"Oh Storm! You saved me!" the lady called down from her hanging place. Storm, stood majestically in the door way, the sunlight catching his hairspray so that it glowed. V allowed himself a chuckle and decided it would be time to check up on things.

"…the fire that was the fleet street riot has cooled…"

"…y opinion that, after the events of the last ten years, the least we could do is build a memorial." "And what do you think of that premeir?" "Well we don't even…"

"…ent a train underneath the building to trigger the explosion even though the athorities believed the atta…"

"…we havent seen him yet, he hasn't spoken to us! You ask me if I think he's alive? I think he's a lie, that's what I thin…"

"…toria Station this morning. Ten bodies were found, two identified as the late Mr. Peter Creedy and Chanseller Adam Sutler. The remaining names have either not been identified or have been requested to be kept private. Only one survived and is now in care at the London Hospital. As the others were, this person was subject to extreme burns and is cannot be identified by authoities although it has been confirmed that…" V had his cloak and hat in hand before the television had fully switched off.

* * *

It was nearly eleven at night and still the celebrations raged on in the city streets. The allies, neighborhoods, roads, roaundabouts, squares and courts were a maze of dancing and talking and loving and living and breathing people. Free people.* V travelled by rooftop, avoiding the occasional roof party. That was until he came to the hospital which was a beehive of laughing talking partiers. He climbed down several roofs before to save himself from sight, although with as much as the roof dwelling people had drunk, a V hopping around on the rooftops was sure not to bother them at all.

The street he came down onto was practically empty to his amazement. The cement was warm, even through his boots. To his right were the smoldering ashes of old parliament. V couldn't help but stare. The ground below him still retained so much heat since the night before. It was soothing.

From around a pile of crafting wire and rock stumbed a drunk pair, both dressed as himself, clutching to each other and building's remains to keep balance. One stumbled over the other and they both landed on the ground, spurting drunk giggles and small moans of pain. One clutched the other to their chest and snorted laughter into the empty air. Both voices were deep and male. They sat up so that they were sitting nose to nose.

One kissed the other.

V felt a small amount of pain in his heart. _Evey. _It would have been so nice to see Evey right now. Just to talk to her. It was likely she had escaped London after she left, into the counrty somewhere. Found a new name, a new home… met someone new. The two continued to kiss and snuggle in the ash. V turned away and disappeared into an allyway that lead towards the hospital. This wasn't what he needed right now…

The Hospital wall was easily scaled and its window was quietly opened. In he slipped. It didn't take long to find who he was looking for, remaining staff were surrounding the bed, staring. If people ever saw him, they probably would have stared like that. He made his way silently in a circle and waited on the window ledge for the cowd to clear, eventually it did. The masked man slipped in.

Inbetween the thick bandaging two eyes opened and found him above, his white mask looming, his cape hanging around his shoulders. He looked like an angel of death.

"Evening." V spoke. His head tilted. "Shame to see me again is it?" The bandaged burn victim moaned a little as it to speak. V hushed the voice down. The room was filled with the hush. He lowered his voice another knotch and sat down beside the bed.

He was gone…

A nurse tiptoed in and leaned around the curtain, peaking over the bed at its occupant. A smile of pity crossed her face. She sighed. She left.

…He was back again.

"I know you're sorry. I know you were just doing what you were told. I promise this wont take long." The figure stood up and walked casually around the bed. He picked up the chart and examined it. "I need to know if you set off the mustard gas?" He came around the other side and leaned in close. "One blink for No. Two blinks for Yes."

_Blink_

There was something about the way the window light caught the two eyes.

_Blink _

Very familiar.

V's heart nearly stopped, he leaned in closer. _They were caramel brown. _

"Evey?" His voice was tiny, but she barely heard it.

_Blink _

_Blink _

* * *

_*Also there were a lot of flaming wheely-rubbish bins. _

_Thankyou all you fans who have reviewed so far. I encourage It as much as I can, PLEASE REVIEW!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks to any subscribers. Don't mean o be pushy, Id like to ask you again to reveiw because its the only way i know anyone's actually still reading this seeing as my e-mail has gone all wonky on me. _

Eric fumbled with the scotch glass, rolling it between his thumb and two fingers. It was over. It all was. When you got to the root of it Norsfire was the basis of his entire life, the death of his wife and daughter from the disease… _he winched _when it came down to it, it was all their doing. Him being promoted came out of concentrating, a concentration that came from loneliness. For all he knew they had been behind the whole thing just to get him to where he was today. _If _he was _today? Or tomorrow?_

Employees were dropping in the Nose like slowly poisoned animals. People he had worked with for years, thinking he knew them like brothers and sisters… all found to be murderers… minions of the old finger, embezzlers, essential pieces and parts of cover ups and death pacts.

Just before parliament went up, on somebody's desk in the artefacts department came box after box of "missing" or "to be destroyed" files from the past 20 years. Records of politicians who had done nasty things with young girls, or shredded a few things, or had the power to make other _poorer _people disappear…and did. Files on people in his department who came into his office every morning and had for the past six years with fresh coffee or updates. Files on people he trusted.

For all he knew there as nothing he had done in the his time at the Nose that could possibly compare to that of his co-workers. Yet it had bothered him all day just the same. He had withheld money from peope who had plenty of it, now and then, just to get by. But what if he had taken it from its rightful owner? What if some poor family out of town could have been fed for a month but weren't because of him. What if someone had died because of him..?

Come to think of it, if he had stood up and claimed a case or two off Creedy a lot of people would still be alive. The alarm ticked over at his bedside and the radio flicked on.

"…_ay you always walk in sunshine. Slumber warm when night winds blow. May you always live with laughter for a smile becomes you so. May goo…" _

A harmonious chorus filled the room, so cheerful it was completely alien amongst the shadows and piles of papers, worn furniture and abandoned take-away boxes. Women singing like birds. Their voices so high and warm Finch could very nearly smell their perfume. Music, he was listening to real music. He was shocked to find his skin prickling all over. Was it his imagination or did this tune sound familiar?

"Sir?" He jumped.

"Jesus bloody Christ!"

Dominic reached forward just in time to miss his commanders falling glass of scotch by a centimetre or so and watch it spill onto the carpet.

"It's one in the morning Dom, what the hell are you doing here?" Said Finch catching his breath. Dominic fished the glass out of the small fuming puddle and ran it under his nose.

"Inspector what have you been drinking? Smells like engine lubricant." He pulled a face and set it down on the table. Finch sat up and went to the kitchen to get a sponge.

"Why didn't you just call me?"

"All the public lies are down inspector, were thinking some NF supporters are behind it." he sighed, "Trying to stop people talking about what's going on."

"…And what _is_ going on?"

"Urm…?"

"Wait, why didn't you just call me at the office?" At this the other fumbled with his fingers and stared at his shoes.

"…oh."

"yeah."

"M'sorry" Neither looked at one another. A siren blared in the street below and the silence was filled with the calls and laughter of a cloud of passing drunks. Finally: "So why are you here?"

"Oh! Umm…" his partner suddenly remembered himself and pulled a folded up wad of paper from his coat pocket. "The victims from the fire in Victoria Station, the ones you found, we got dental on them." he handed over the paper, "forensics is in chaos at the moment…"

"…the whole system is in chaos…"

"Anyway, I've had no one to hand these over to because the guy on the case got fired this morning and his deputy's been missing since Monday. So I thought you'd be the bloke..?"

The two's eyes still remained stiffly in the floor where the scotch pool drizzled into the shag. One sighed. The other eyed the door.

"Well," he coughed, "..?" Finch extended his arm. The other shook his hand. "It's been nice working with you inspector" They both mustered a brief smile. Finch stuffed the papers into his pocket.

Silence.

Dominic shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around his old boss, gave him a squeeze, a firm kiss on the cheek and then, without any eye contact, left the kitchen and rounded the front entrance into the hallway. He was in the lobby before he remembered to breathe.

* * *

"Listen I wish I could be more help but…" Shannon lowered her voice a little, "I just started here, After Delia left there have been no good researchers in the lab. I was the hands, she was the diagnosis." Eric slouched a little and rubbed his neck.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Well," the apprentice tilted back the head of the blackened corpse and ran her finger across its brow, "The rotting scorch marks found on the contracting skin here indicate the fire was surged onto the skin only for long enough to cause extreme damage to the dermis while keeping the flesh and everything else intact. This would mean that either he was blasted with a flamethrower, or, more likely, was caught in a gas explosion. The rotting would indicate that he bled in an attempt to heal which would mean…"

"…he was still alive after the explosion."

"But not for long. The fire left his insides ok but, before the fire, he got shot at least eight times. All of the bullets came from his gun", she pulled off her gloves, " or one like it."

'He was a fingerman. there were a bunch of them." Finch mumbled. At this the young forensic gave him a frustrated stare:

"You know that would have come in handy yesterday, knowing that." She sighed, "if it hadn't all got to pot 'round here I'd have known that"

"What about the yellow?"

"The what?"

"The," Finch pointed to the body but got no closer, "crust around the eyes."

"Oh! That's the gas residue. Mustard." Finched winced at the idea. _This _was why he hadn't stayed in forensics. "Thanks for that," Shannon mumbled, washing her hands and taking off her lab coat, "Him being a fingerman I mean." She gave a half smile that was a sort of roll of the lips and turned. "Least we know _why _they got him." Finch turned to step out. As he reached for the door, she piped up: "Oh? And how's the girl doing?"

The Inspector's forehead puckered. "What girl?"


	7. Chapter 7

_This next chapter is dedicated to Zofos for the best damn review ive ever gotten. Don't worry Meow, half of "Three Little Words" was for you anyway. Happy to inspire and to be inspired! Thankyou all the other fans who have reviewed thus far _J

The masked man stayed at her side until sunup. He barely moving a muscle, light growing and fading behind him. Evey was transfixed. Even as she hazed in and out of reality he stayed in her sight. Leaning over her the way a guardian angel would.

It took her a while to come to grips with what was happening. Her most recent memories were blurred… or not so much blurry as incomplete as if she were looking at an entire image through a tiny hole and as she tried to recollect pieces fell in and out of place. Her brain was far too weak to retain anything definitely. And yet a vague picture was forming. It was dark and unsettling. There was no emotion, it was cold. Even as she tried to remember the feeling put her off. The feeling that maybe this was something that she wouldn't want to remember.

Evey finally set the task aside and found herself looking up into his mask. A smile forever gracing his lips, for the first time since she had seen it, it made her smile in return. Something about looking at him made her feel good. Great as a matter of fact. Warm. Comforted… that was it, she felt comfortable. Even in her cast, clammy and hot, his presence settled her. Her eyes drifted closed again, his white face imprinted on her retina, and drifted into sleep.

Evey felt arms curl softly around and hold her, a head against her chest. She was at home in the gallery on the couch reading. His body against hers as they lay. He watched the telly while she flicked though 'The Scarlet Pimpernel'. It was warm, clammy warm, but she refused to push him away. He held her the way a lover would, the way she wished he would… but this wasn't like V? It wasn't at all. The air in the gallery grew strange. Sour. He looked up at her.

"You're dreaming," he said. That was a V thing to say. Clear and void of emotion. His voice rung in her ear. Terribly familiar yet without a face to match, like an old song whose singer had been forgotten. How she missed that voice, deep and soulful. She almost started to cry. Suddenly he was close to her. Very close. Her heart thumped in her chest. How had she not seen his advance? Their noses nearly touched. Evey felt very warm in the face. His breath on her lips. She grew weak all over, as if all the mass had been removed from her body. With him this close she felt weightless. She leaned forward. Her lips brushed the cold metal but moved no further. The whiteness of his mask loomed in her vision. Whiter than paint, whiter than sunlight, Evey was blinded. Her eyes snapped open.

_The first thing she noticed was that he wasn't there._

The second was that it was morning…

…the third was a man by the side of the bed. His head was bowed, Evey almost thought he was sleeping until the edge of a piece of paper caught her eye. His face was long and sad, perhaps quite tired and his hair was dark brown and curly. He wore a long jacket, the one visible pocket crammed with bits of paper and a cell phone. He looked familiar. Unable to move she blinked repeatedly in an attempt to grab his attention. He did nothing. She waited, neither noticed when she slipped back out of the hospital room and into the gallery.

Warmth at her side, a hand. Gloved, soft, comforting. She reached out and held it. It slowly wrapped round her plam stroking her knuckles. She thought of her parents. Love. Love was something she hadn't though about in a long time. Too long in fact. Since she was held at the Re education centre she had been convinced that such things didn't exist anymore. Romance was dead, happiness had been exploited into oblivion, chivalry had disappeared. That state of mind had been her centre point of the best part of 23 years. Until the day she met V. The hand curved around hers gently, happy to touch her even though she was hot and sweaty. Why was she so hot and sweaty… and itchy… Evey squirmed. She woke up again.

"Well now?" A tired voice proclaimed at her side, "I can guess who this is." He said almost as if he had just come into the room. Inspector Finch rubbed his nose and looked up from Evey's medical chart, meeting her eyes. "They haven't been so sure about you staying here, there're plenty of people still out to get you Miss Hammond. I'm surprised it took them so long to figure out it was you in here." He automatically felt uncomfortable at his words, wishing he could take them back. She wouldn't be recognisable as Evey Hammond every again. Not in the eyes of a public who had grown so used to that face on the telly. He wondered whether she was aware of her current appearance. Her body was in full cast, how could she have seen a mirror? Could she even hear him?

Ah well, couldn't make things that much worse. "I just came in to check if it was you myself." He heaved himself up out of the bedside chair with a groan and straightened his jacket. "You being involved in all this explains quite a few things." With that he disappeared behind the curtain and out the door.

* * *

Music tumbled from the jukebox and out into the branching hallways like water through a pipe system. A black clad finger rolled the volume up full blast until the noise blocked out the sounds of the street above to his keen ears. Mozart's twenty second piano concerto rolled its lapping waves of violin over one another occasionally clashing over the twinkling yet glorious song of the piano. The sounds melted and curdled in the air like smoke and all the masked man could think to do was sit down and listen. He had flipped through the records endlessly for something without words because everything that had words had to do with love or devotion or some romantic kind of misery. That was just what he didn't need right now.

It really hit him around eleven that very morning just what had happened. It was over, ended, dismissed, diseased, finished. His entire life's work had come to an end. His life as he knew it was over. OVER.

The thought was so huge V couldn't even pretend that he could wrap his head around it.

And yet after all of all that there was and had ever been of him was fully and completely accomplished he was rewarded with nothing. Not even inner peace. It was as if his body was still living but his soul had died along with parliament. He was in a state of total misery. The horrible thing was that the only tiny idea that brought him happiness was Evey. Just the thought of her. But since the night before every glimpse of her in his mind was accompanied with raving guilt.

He could do nothing to convince himself to look on the better side, there was no better side! Norsfire had fallen and all he could think of that had come from that so far was death and destruction. Mad Ex-fingerman were on the loose terrorising the city and whenever he put one of them down two more took their place. The idea of burning buildings had spread through Londoner's heads like wildfire and half the city was alight.

This was what you wanted. Chaos.

It was wonderful that it had been accomplished surely. He should be happy? WHY COULDN'T HE BE HAPPY? …_because it's not log before they take down the hospital too. _

He felt sick and weak and useless. V wished he had died. Truly he did.

The song crashed down into a dark oblivion out of which grew the rich in life grape vines of a rejoicing violin. Vines built up into a mass as more and more music blossomed. Surely if the sounds had been smoke the masked man would have suffocated. Instead he simply sat, his back against the jukebox, tearing himself up inside. The violins crashed over the peak of the music like gigantic waves over a ship, crushing down the twang coming form the piano as the song reached a final apex.

Why am I even here? _What the hell is the point of living anymore? _The sounds surged and then rolled key to key downwards._ It's over! What is there worth living for? _Mozart's fiery music became choppier and louder, stronger and harder before finally exploding in a heart melting orgasm of sound that shook the gallery walls, the paintings, the sculptures. Yet V was unmoved. The sounds dwindled, the music faded. He couldn't find the strength to sit up.

_Dong _

_Dong _

_Dong _

_Dong _

_Dong_

_Dong _

_Dong _

_Dong_

_Dong… _

_A cool peace descended across the terrorist's body. He gave a sigh. Such thoughts could wait till later. He pulled himself up off the sandstone and went to fetch his hat and cloak. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for the delay. ive been in the middle of nowhere in a place called "The Land with no Internet" so for all those who've been waiting for this chapter ive made it extra long to make up for the delay, enjoy. X.B. Edgar_

A fortnight passed.

Something rolled over in Evey stomach, she stared up hatefully at the pink reflection. It wasn't a mirror, they hadn't given her a mirror. In all truth she wouldn't have had the gall to ask for one, even if she'd had the energy. With the bandages gone, the moist warmth was replaced by a deadly cold. Even smothered by the hospital blankets she felt constantly enveloped by it. She rolled her head to look at the clock and found a stinging pain latch over her neck and spread like venom.

She wasn't anywhere close to healed yet, but just healthy enough to be unwrapped and left to freeze in the icebox they called a room. Her conscious mind had developed over the last two weeks to become more prominent, but she remained quite weak much of the time and still fell asleep regardless of the sun being up or down.

Her severed memory had not become focused in that time and to her dismay more of her recent memories (such as her first nights in hospital) left to join it in it's haze. Her eyes set on the alarm clock by the bed flashing its numbers proudly and brightly, straining her eyes.

5:04

5:04

5:05

It wouldn't be that long, Evey reassured herself, rolling her neck back onto the pillow. Not long at all. She shuddered as cool wind blew though the open window sizzling on her red swollen skin. The pink murky reflection caught her eye again and held it. What would he think? Well of coarse he wouldn't be hurt… would he? Was it selfish of her to think so?

* * *

"Ok so your George and I'm…?"

"Allan."

"Right, ALLEN!"

"Shu- Shut the fuck up!", Roger sneered drunkenly in a mock whisper. The two walked inexpertly down the block holding each other up, shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah, you're Allen… are?…weren't you Allen before?"

"Oooooooh…" he scrunched his face in concentration., then he gave up.

"I don't know…" The other drawled out. They came to a door step one Roger felt in his pocket for a key. The door swung open before he managed to find it.

"So where have you been?"

The finger man looked up into his sister's angry face, wrinkled with makeup that had obviously been smeared up one side of a pillow. She made out another shape in the dark. "And who's this?"

"I'm Allan! And this… this bloke is George!" he man known as 'this' bellowed before crumbling onto the step. Roger's sister automatically leaned forward to help him but her brother held her back, "Leave him. He's been nothing but a pain all night anyway." He tugged his sister by the arm into the door and closed it against his friend's bald head on the other side.

"What's all this about Allen?"

"It has… it was his old face-name," he slumped into a kitchen chair, "back in Inner-City. I was George."

"What, he's an ex-finger man too?" the woman was confused. She filled a glass with water and set it next to him, catching a glimpse of his face. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough." She heaved a sigh and glanced at the clock. It was barely after ten. He would probably go out again. Soon, she hoped. Roger had only lived here a couple of weeks. (A couple of protesters had burned down his flat from what she knew.) But already she had adapted to his routine. Sleeping all day and drinking all night was all there was to it. That was what it was like when they were young as well. She didn't really give a shit anymore, as long as he didn't get mean… and as long as it was his money that he was wasting on beer.

But he'd never brought home another finger man before? He'd never had the taste for guys from work.

Roger wasn't a violent man perse. Of all the men in inner-city he was one of the easy goers. He'd pulled his weight in papers and he'd followed the rules as far as he knew them. But still there were files. Things he had done that he didn't really remember, now unearthed.

Unlike "Allan" or anyone else, Roger really felt sorry for what he did. And nobody believed him about it. Things he had done to women late at night when they needed a bit of punishment, things he wouldn't have done sober certainly, things his wife, Kelly, never would approved of had she known.

Then one morning there came box after box piled on management desks. Red boxes they called them, although he'd never seen one. Things got away, things got around. He came home one day to find there wasn't a home to come to. And there was Kelly, pretty as ever with a box of matches. The orange memory faded

"You going out again later?"

"What?"

"You going out again later? I mean you've got plenty in you."

"Yeah, I've got plenty in me." He cracked a weird sort of smile. "Where're the keys?"

"You've got 'em"

"'ight"

"I'm off to bed. I won't be up when you get home."

"Mmm."

The door slammed behind him. The woman heard his footsteps drown away and then reached for his half downed glass where he had been sitting. She put the rim to her nose.

"UrkK!"

* * *

Roger kicked a stone which skittered across the cobbles and landed in the gutter. The streets were finally bare, excluding the occasional folk who still took advantage of the new rules. Anarchy was settling in the city, if only enough that one could catch a view of the future through the smoke. Now that the Statues of oppression were torn down there was rebuilding to do. People couldn't live lawlessly forever.

Clip-clopping turned to crunching beneath him and Roger looked to his feet. The ashes of old parliament had long melted with the rain into a slushy soil. The rest of the remains had been torn down, a small crowd coming to cheer with every falling wall, over the last three weeks. Now all that remained was a huge empty space by the river pitted with old cleaned out cellars. He sighed. Walking on, the hospital loomed out at him. Unthinking he walked towards it.

* * *

Orderlies buzzed this way and that, wheeling huge cases of bottles and boxes, yelling for assistance, bickering, scribbling, stretching and sighing. It was not the hour for visitors, so why should there be any? Everyone he passed seemed to think so; ignoring him as if, because he shouldn't have been there, he wasn't.

He passed by room after room filled with grey florescent lights and sleeping patients the occasional doctor gave him a glance, assuming he was being escorted by someone else. There was enough on everyone's plate without him there it seemed. The fires had taken care of that.

He thought of Kelly.

Kelly. He passed through the hallway into the green stretch of rooms of the E.R. Something caught his eye. He turned. A splash of colour in the otherwise monochrome walkway. He scanned for it and found nothing. Roger sighed and kept walking. Kelly. Kelly was on his mind. The man stopped again and turned, deciding he was in need of something to occupy himself anyway, and walked back to the window where he had seen the colour. He found it. Reflected across the hall in the opposite room were a pair of feet coming out from behind a white curtain. Roger stood in the doorway.

There was something strange about them but he couldn't place it. He was drunk, or half drunk… this wasn't the time to be concentrating. He was getting a headache. Pink. That was it! The feet were pink.

"HEY!" He turned so fast his uncoordinated feet slipped out from under him. "Hey!" Said the nurse now running towards him to help him up. The finger man pushed her away and scrambled to his feet. "Are you admitted in here?" Roger struggled for words, trying to find something that didn't sound like "Sorry, I'm drunk and I have no reason to be here." but meant about the same thing. The silence lasted too long. He stayed silent. Instead he just walked past her out into the front hall and out the fire exit. The baffled nurse did nothing to stop him.

He needed to calm himself.

The rain had stopped, leaving the concrete out the door covered in slick mud, oil floated on top of it. Roger followed the oil to where the stream started, its tank had been beaten in with something. He took a breath to clear his head and strolled back and forth along the wall, stopping outside the door and fumbling in his pants pocket for a cigarette. Roger found a pouch of tobacco he barely remembered buying that morning. Out of his coat he pulled an old receipt and rolled the tobacco in it, stuffing a filter in one end and sealing the tube with spit. Pink feet. Pink feet? Someone had been in a fire. Kelly? His drunken mind became suddenly frantic. Oh God Kelly!

Roger turned and ran his hands over the door in search of a handle, finding nothing. It's a fucking fire exit. He had to get in, he had to be sure. But there could have been hundreds of burn victims, how could he be sure? This was stupid. He shouldn't have gone in there. The man's mind festered. Kelly. What if it was KELLY? The thought of her plump frame standing proud in front of his burning house, a smile stretched across her face. There had been so many people there that night, but he knew it was her. Her that did it. She had always hated him. And then there came an explosion in an upper story window and an air conditioner came crashing down in front of her.

And you didn't move! FUCK YOU! YOU DIDN"T DO ANYTHING! An ache swelled in his chest. That was her! It had to be!

"Kelly!" YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He kicked the emergency door repeatedly with both feet. "You tried to kill me!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, wondering if anyone could hear him. How did she find out? How the fuck did she know what he'd done?

_Oh the things he had done._

His mind wandered back to one of his long nights alone. Out on the street looking for shapes, any movement. Waiting for victims. He never went to work sober. Not with the things you had to do on the job. It amazed him anyone could do it sober. He had gotten really drunk that night.

Some finger men, guys he'd never even met, he remembered them. He had wandered down an alley into a horde them. In their arms was a woman, she was screaming. The memory was old, he was old, so it faded in and out.

She was in a bathrobe.

He knew what he had done, regardless of the blurry facts. It wasn't the last time he had done it either. The others had given her a go, she was unconscious anyway.

Kelly had probably known for a long time.

He wished he was dead. She had tried to do him a favour.

Unthinking he threw his cigarette onto the ground and reached in his pocket for another. There came a Whoof as the oil slick caught alight. Roger hardly noticed.


	9. Chapter 9

_I will fulfil your wishes of a more revolution centred plot after this chapter I promise but, as it were, this particular chapter is centred around other matters concerning the ending of the last scene. So with all due respect, reviewers, keep your freakin' pants on. If you want this to play out nicely in the end then please give me a decent ending! Send in your ideas please, they're needed. _

The raven shadow of codename V whipped across the night sky untouched by the moonlight. It slunk from shadow to shadow becoming something and then nothing again before an eye could comprehend. Just as a car cast its yellow eyes across the face of the bank of London, he slunk down into an alley passage and turned into the sound of a cat on the fire escape of an old woman who had stayed up late and was making a cup of brew. She opened the window to let her pet in and found nothing there. He was in a hospital room a block away.

It was a wonderful tranquillity that came in this place, just knowing that his love was here, somewhere. V gave himself a moment to soak in it. He left the ward and stepped out into a badly lit hallway, letting his feet make noise again, knowing there would be no one there. He stopped.

He took a breath…

…Nothing. For a moment V thought he had smelled gasoline.

The masked man had reached a decision, as with (what was) the fait of the train, he would leave his destiny in the hands of Evey. Two hands he could trust. And once he was rejected he could slip out of her life as quickly as he had entered it. It was not a happy note to leave his thoughts on, but it was solid. It only made sense. Evey would die for him, an act of obedience, but he could never ask her to love him. This was all that there was to it, when boiled down: she had taken his heart, it was only fitting he should reclaim it, even if it was to be damaged in the process. His purpose had been fulfilled, he was just occupying space in her life.

Things would be so much easier if he had died when he was supposed to.

He eased quietly throughout the hospital to the fourth floor burn ward and into the cold little room. A gloved hand hastily swept the curtain aside. His heart nearly stopped. Before him, asleep, was the love of his life. A gloved hand reached down and stroked the surface of her face, cold. Its molten texture collided with his fingers in a singularly strange sensation. It was like stroking pink fleshy coral. Unwillingly his eyes stung with the beginnings of tears. Evey, poor sweet, small and gorgeous Evey, stripped of all her beauty, pocked and swollen. His throat was suddenly very dry. He cupped her cheek.

Two brown eyes eased open at this, one quite red.

"V..?" The man's heart ached. All thoughts of the revolution, of purpose, of death aside, he could spend the rest of his life staring into those eyes. He cleared his head and took a breath. A weird taste was left in his mouth.

"Evey," V finally responded. His voice was a muttered whisper, but she heard. Evey gave him a relieved sigh and smiled warmly. He sighed as well.

"V, where have you been?"

"I'm sorry I'm late. I suppose I got caught up in some music…"

"…its fine" her smile lit up her face, her beautiful ruined face. Foreign and yet hers. Curious eyes, a loving smile. "Your out of your bandages." _That seemed rather rude of you to say! _his mind echoed, _why would you bring that up? _

"…hmm." she said weakly. His mind drew a hundred conclusions from this, but before anything could be vocalized her hand rested over his, and he was lost. "Do I look alright V?" _I could never lie to you Evey, not again. _

"You're beautiful Evey" She gave him a smile, a little shy, a little hurt, a loving twisted smile. The moment lasted only a small spool of eternity before V sensed something strange and broke their locked eyes to stare at the window. Its bottom edge was frosted with… steam?

* * *

_Beebeep beebeep beebeep beebeep beebeep beebeep smack!_

Kara yawned and arched her back. Work. Fucking work. She glanced over at the alarm clock, it was one in the morning! How could anyone live like this? Why was she living like this? Student loans didn't need repaying since the banks weren't under any real order anymore, she only needed enough money to live on. _This wasn't the way to do it._

She felt her way down the stairs and clicked the kettle on, threw on some clothes, drank some weak coffee, grabbed her purse and left her warm flat for Soho. _Fucking Soho. _No one should be expected to be up this early. She wasn't a morning person. Coffee was so expensive these days. Her clothes were too small. Why did she have to walk? God life in the city was miserable. _Well I'm not moving HOME! _

She sighed. _One on the morning._

On call every night, moonlighting, half heartedly scribbling out signatures on forms, checking bed pans, fluffing pillows, changing diapers. If there was any place in the world that made home look hospitable, it was a Soho hospital.

Coming out of an alley, she looked to the end of the street where the Hospital lurched over the surrounding houses. The windows appeared to be glowing orange? Kara's tired mind tumbled over suggestions as to why but before anything came together, the deafening sound of an explosion in a top floor room shattered her curious thinking and drew her eyes back to the white and yellow mass. In return to her glance, another explosion erupted.

Before she could think of anything more productive, the young nurse was bolting toward it.

Her high heels dropped onto the pavement outside, giving her enough speed to run in and grab the first person she could. The passage was clogged with panicking patients and nurses, young and old climbing over one another for the fire exits. Her hands landed on flesh. A small child of an indeterminate sex crying in the hallway was swept up into her arms and carried out onto the sidewalk before its saviour lunged back inside again.

Kara threw her purse to the ground and started just pushing people towards the entrance for lack of a better thought. Once the room was semi-clear she checked each door for sleeping patients. Three rooms behind her, the label on an oxygen tank peeled in the surrounding heat. It burst.

* * *

The first thing to go was the cape, then the boots. Without them, the trip to the parallel roof was made much easier, particularly as they were alight. The heft of Evey in his arms pulled him down the tiles of the church's peaked roof, from which he jumped and landed nimbly on the roof of a block of flats. With no possible onlookers in sight, the terrorist set her down and raced back to the building.

* * *

There was a flash of darkness in the deep blue soaring from rooftop to rooftop. It went unnoticed by all the Londoners, except one who continued to preen his feathers and, after admiring the big pretty yellow thing for a little while longer, flew off to tell his mates that they should probably avoid this spot for a while.

* * *

Kara's eyelids sizzled with pain as she attempted to open them. Smoke blinded her, even on the floor the fumes reached her lungs causing her to cough and sputter. Closing her eyes, she pulled herself in the direction of the front desk, her legs bleeding profusely, draining her energy. The nurse's heart hammered. She squealed as flames licked at her sides, pouring out of a side room like water flowing into the ceiling. Another explosion thundered above her* on a higher floor and debris rattled down off if the ceiling. Burning tiles landed beside her. A final waft of smoke finally breached her throat and was swallowed into her lungs. She choked and collapsed. The last thing Kara felt before she blacked out was an arm around her waist.

* * *

V's bootless feet touched down on the jagged tiles and, finding a flat spot, lay the nurse down. The shadowy figure knelt by her. A glove was removed and its now naked hand placed two fingers to her neck. A pulse answered him. He sighed. She coughed. Somewhere below, someone took a photo took a photo on their phone.

*_there are quite a few oxygen tanks in a hospital if you need a reason for all the explosions_


	10. Chapter 10

_GOD DID THAT TAKE A WHILE OR WHAT! No but seriously, sorry for taking so long. _

V lay the limp form down onto to black leather cushion of the couch, her hands clinging around his neck before unwrapping and falling to her sides. This was wrong. It was so wrong. It was never mean to turn out like this. It was of coarse obvious by the bandaging that there would have been some damage underneath but… it was like staring into a reflection. It couldn't be her. He must have grabbed the wrong patient in his hurry. She must have been moved to another ward. It wasn't that she was ugly, V assured himself hurriedly, but she simply wasn't Evey. She couldn't be.

"V…" she groaned. His heart melted like ice cream_…Evey….my Evey…_No. not "my"… not … "V-Veee" V remembered himself suddenly and ran to the bathroom to grab the first aid.

From her state of diluted reality Hammond could barely made out the figure scuttling around her, setting up equipment. A pinch of pain in her arm and then warmth and sleep veiled over again. Evey's dreams played about in their usual way: childhood memories of parks, art museums and lolly shops, old cartoons and Indian food, teenage fears of men with hidden double crosses, grey walls, shattered mirrors, painted masks. Streets flooded with sewerage and moons that shined for the first time. Fireworks. Terrors in the night. Smiles in the day. Warm eggy in the basket… blackness flickered on and off between thoughts. Now and then she woke. Eggs?… Eggy in the basket? V always called it an "Egyptian eyeball sandwich". A laugh escaped her leaving some small pains in its wake. Evey took a deep breath and the smell filled her nose. Eggs and Bacon. Saliva mingled in her mouth. An invisible blanket of relaxation draped over her shoulders and her muscles unwound. A hand landed softly on her mid back and for a sweet, milky, burgundy coloured moment her pain evaporated away. Then she fell unconscious again.

* * *

"Have you got it ready?"

"Jesus, Larry, give me a second." Brian carefully flattened down the pasted picture onto the draft sheet and handed it to his comrade. "Without the computers up and running, we have to do this shit by hand," he said.

"My father didn't even have to do that, back in his day I mean." Brian sighed.

"Well I got trained to do this sort of thing just in case."

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Larry gave the paper a look over, his eyes drawn to the headline: "HE'S ALIVE" bursting out the top of the page.

"What can I say?…shit happens," he observed with a smirk. "That's what I'm here for."

"Now we got to wait and see it they even buy it. No one trusts the media anymore. You don't know who to believe."

* * *

V pulled the lukewarm plate out of the oven and turned to set it on the table. It rimmed a moment before clattering into place, its owner had completely lost interest. V stared into the wide sad brown eyes in the doorway. He tried to speak but she beat him to it.

"…V…"

"Evey. Oh, please sit down. You needn't waist your energ-"

"V"

The smouldering fat of the bacon fizzed and popped eventually dying down to nothing. The two stood silent, eyes locked. There was so much to be said but no words were made. Moments passed.

"You _are_ alive," murmured Evey. V couldn't remember her voice being as sweet as it was.

"Yes," he replied.

Her thin, red hand reached out and brushed the edge of his sleeve. Catching her arm in his hand before it fell, V took a step closer to her. A smile split Evey's face. She closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head into his chest. A laughter bubbled from her mixed with occasional sobs. Politely, restrictively, V set his chin on her shoulder and wrapped his hands around her waist.

* * *

"…e is alive! I know it! We all saw it!"

"That could have been anyone on that rooftop, everyone's got a mask! _I've _got a mask. No disrespect to the man but he's dead, England! And its time we got over it!"

"And what's your opinion on this Mr. Almond?"

"Well, Carolyn, our sources indicate that if indeed he were dead, as you say he is, the body would have been recovered by now. Since the abandoned and forbidden sectors have been reclaimed, police are in constant surveillance of the tunnels in which V's organisation created the bombs and a good 80% of the suggested hiding places not infected by the virus as suggested by the media have been thoroughly examined by both assigned agents and, of coarse, the occasional scavenging Londoner, my suggestion is that the man is either in a constant state of movement, hidden in the city amongst the public or, as your panel discussed last week, simply never existed at all."

"I'm afraid were going to have to conclude this segment gentlemen, do you have any closing statements?"

"Well, Carolyn, dead or alive, with the little assistance he's giving us to rebuild this country, we're all going to have to work hard all the same. Does it really matter?"

"I'm going to have to agree with you on that Mr. Richardson."

"Well… I don't know… now to say that he's doing nothing to rebuild this country is a bit unfair. The "V rebellion" party in the Soho suburbs and the "pre established government" act coming into play again over that last month. These are signs of England pulling itself back together. How do we know he's not behind them?

"And that ladies and gentlemen will be he topic of next weeks program. I'm Carolyn Martin for the NBBC discussion forum. Thankyou for joining me, goodnight."

A trickle of applause filled the studio as the screens slowly faded out into the "NEXT ON NEW BBC" montages. Half the citizens of London were listening. Outside the padded walls of the building, the streets were thick with noise. He was alive, they knew it, each and every one of them. Their hearts poured out to him.

* * *

"You seem to be getting around alright, but-"

"I don't need any help. I don't need any wheelchairs or support bars or anything like that. I'm just fine, V." tentatively, she placed a hand on his chest. "Don't get so worried." He gave a small breathy laugh.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so irritating."

"It'd just be heartbreaking to have me fall and snap a bone or two on Christmas Eve." A horrid image came to mind but V pushed it away. "I've been walking around for a month now without having to use that chair and don't you forget it… _buster." _She smiled.

"You've been watching too many westerns."

"I have," she laughed. Remembering herself, Evey pulled her hand off of him, leaving a cold spot where it had been. V stared at his shoes. "How's dinner coming along?"

"Oh!" V rushed off to the kitchen leaving the giggling Evey alone on the couch.

* * *

Eric stirred the oily concoction that served as a cure to a horrible hangover. With Dom gone and no car, the police system held together with tape and the telly broken there hadn't been any other way to celebrate Christmas. He certainly wasn't going to be marooned out there in the streets with an endless drunken crowd for company. Things had been worse, but last night was a night to be spent alone. People had dies out there.

Less than usual but certainly too many.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself up and decided to take a walk.

* * *

"Oh V! Oh its beautiful!" Evey pulled the long silk dress out of the box and pressed its patterns to her cheek.

"Happy Christmas Evey." She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, planting a firm kiss on his shoulder. A moment lasted without a word. The masked mans heart thundered in his chest.

"Where…" she pulled herself from him, "where did you get it?"

"Oh, in a crate along with a thousand others. On their way to a family in Norwich, I believe. I'm sure they wont miss just the one. Vietnamese."

"Wait just a minute, I'll go and get yours." She pattered out of the room. Vs hand closed over the place where her lips had been. He felt like he was on fire. He was sorry he couldn't have gotten a tree or so much as a wall hanger. Even so, she didn't seem unhappy. In fact she seemed more full of life than she had since he'd brought her back here.

Her nimble feet rounded a turn at the end of the hall and plodded towards him. Evey kneeled and set a box his feet, before sitting.

"I'd just like to say that its not very much," she said hands on the lid, "but, well, what do you give a man who has everything?" V, in all his years had never thought of himself as that man. Evey took off the lid. V's gloved hands pulled out a white mask with liquorice black facial hair. "I had it made at the shop down the street from me. Fairly cheep." She reached out and pinched the corner of Guy's grinning face, snapping it and putting the white chocolate fragment in her mouth. Her lips curled into a sweet smile. Tickles, climbed up V's spine.

"Might I enjoy it after supper?"

"Of coarse," she said. "What would you like to do now?"

"Now would be a decent time for a dance." Graciously, V helped Evey to stand. V froze. Somewhere distantly, footprints clattered on a sandstone floor.


	11. Chapter 11

In the excess of a second, he was on his feet, knife in hand moving like a panther out of the living room. Evey said nothing, sitting as still as she could, chocolate melted between her teeth. She waited for the sound of a body collapsing to the floor or a scream. Nothing.

Finch gazed around at the paintings, complete awe sweeping over him. This was it, the place. After all this time searching, it truly was a treasure trove. More than that, it was like walking into heaven. He'd spent the best part of the day in the tunnels, not searching, just thinking. All his work felt like nothing. But now that he was here though… it was as if he had been looking for this place his whole life. Golden skies and cluttered walls, so beautiful he could hardly take it.

_The alcohol must be going to my head? _Paintings of angels swirled around him, dragging him down.

This didn't matter. None of this beauty mattered. V had already won. This place, it was nothing. It was worthless. He might as well have been at home. He might as well have been dead. Sadness in him raged on stretching the surrounding gallery into a demanding looming beast. It was ready to consume him. _Looking back… it was too late. _This place had eaten him a long time ago. He was vanquished. Defeated.

Finch was Destroyed. Every fibre of him was shaking terribly at the thought of his loneliness. He had no refuge. This was his end. He was ready to die now. _Footsteps at his side. _He didn't turn. This was his time. He was worth nothing to this country anymore. The floor braced his falling knees.

Kill me.

…

"Kill me."

"…"

A drunken haze swooned him onto the floor. The broken man curled at V's feet.

"No."

Line

V rounded the corner back into the hall, Finch slumped over his arms. The terrorist lay him down on the couch, his body still shaking.

"What are we going to do with him?" Evey finally piped

"I don't know. It's likely he wont remember the way in." The other examined his long, tired face.

"He visited me in hospital," she observed. V nodded. "Inspector Finch?"

"Yes."

"Would he be the type to sell out to the media," who would believe him anyway, no one trusted governing powers like the papers and the TV anymore. They'd been living off of them for far too long. "Will you take him home?"

"Yes."

V sighed. The night felt ruined, no decorations, typical food waiting, silent awkwardness in the air. Evey turned to him: "Would you care to dance?" …_then again_

Under the mask, V grinned. "I thought you would never ask."

* * *

Eric Finch's eyes snapped open. Flaring at his bedside was his alarm clock, pounding into his skull. A flailing arm smacked it to the floor. Slowly, he eased himself up. Finch was at home, in his bedroom. Beside him sat a smouldering cup of tea and a slice of lemon in a cup he wasn't sure he hadn't seen before. He pulled the blankets up around him, to mask the cold from an open window into which tinkled a veil of tiny snowflakes.

_He_ had been here. He knew where Finch lived. _Should you really be that shocked? _He sighed, disappointed, trying to remember how fait had found him in Vs den. Had it been in the tunnels? Did he want to go back?

No, he realised, I don't. I'm not afraid but I just don't care anymore.

The thrill of the chase had long died in him, he thought. The man he had spent a year of his life tracking down was taking pity on him, now. Dominic was up north somewhere happily forgetting. He could be up north right now. _Why do I bother when playing cops and robbers when it isn't fun anymore? _Eric sat in the muddle of blankets drinking the tea to cool his head.

_Bastard makes good Earl Grey, _he thought.

* * *

With finch nestled on the couch, now coatless but bundled in a blanket, music twinkled in passage. Evey's laughter echoed in the masked mans ear. Her arms hung around his neck, pulling them closer. Finally another song ended and she let go, stumbling as she fell.

"Oh, I feel sick," she laughed, "I had way, way too much chicken." Her body collapsed against him, resting her chin on his chest she found his eyes. " Got any more of that champagne?"

"I believe you've had enough," he chuckled. She smiled.

"I wouldn't seem so drunk if you would at least have one glass."

"No thankyou,"

"Aha! Haha! But I planned for such an occasion," she said slipping from his arms and fumbling to the kitchen. V helped hold her up on the way. She scrounged around in a drawer before producing a blue plastic straw.

"I don-"

"I know that you drink," she said tapping a finger on his chest, "no sober man has a wine collection like yours." Evey popped the straw into her glass and filled it.

"I'm not one for champagne."

"Oh, excuses, excuses, excuses." Hammond handed him the flute. "Just the one, its Christmas. Were going to have to get rid of all your champagne somehow aren't we?"

Reluctantly, V slid the straw between the lips of his mask. The disappearing liquid reminded Evey of an old episode of the Muppets, a smile graced her face. "I'm going to go get into my new dress," she laughed_._


	12. Chapter 12

Flattening down the silk against her waist, out of habit, Evey turned to check how she looked in the mirror. Out of it looked a face she couldn't recognise, staring her down. She looked away to the bed trying to distract herself. That wasn't her face. It could never be her face. _Was that the way he saw her? _Something pulled her back and held her eye_. It was like looking at a red demon._

_No. It isn't me. _

Hate slithered and burned in her stomach and a molten ache rose in her chest. Hugging herself, Evey fell onto the bed and curled up in the duvet, sobbing softly.

13 years ago, a young Evey Hammond was doing the same thing night after night, somewhere on a hard mattress on a steel bunk bed in a re-education centre, she pounded the concrete wall at the stead with her fists and cried. No one cared, no one even moved. The new Evey mirrored her now, beating at the sandstone with her palms, pouring out as much energy as she could. Tears ran from her reddened eyes. It wasn't enough. Her flailing hands reached for the books at the bedside, flinging them at the mirror. Without thinking, she began to cry out in pain.

By the time V was in the door way Evey was on the floor, the mirror in ruins at her side. Gently, he slid his hands into the mass of blankets around a pair of shaking shoulders. In return she squirmed trembling into his embrace, burying herself in his hair and crying. V rubbed her shoulder and rocked her slowly back and forth as she gushed her pain against him.

She was still very ill, V reassured himself, being allowed alcohol while in her state was a stupid thing for him to have done.

"I cant- I cant feel the silk," she chanted between sobs. He curled his arms around her and ushered her further to him. After a small silence she pulled her face away from him and wiped her cheek with her hands. She found herself looking into his eyes and fell for a moment into silence. "I'm so sorry. I've ruined our night." V savoured the words for a moment in his head. "_Our night." _

"Nothing is ruined," he reassured her. A hand ran over her bald pink scalp and he looked into her face. Her massive sore brown eyes stared back into him. She really was beautiful, in a way that would outlast anything. His hand pressed against her cheek, now textured and firmed. "This is just the may that the world must be. There is no denying that. The only road is that which leads to acceptance of simple truths."

Evey rolled her jaw: "Who said that?"

"I said that." She broke eyes with him a moment. Considering all that he said. If anyone were to know, it would be him. But even so…

"I don't want to live behind a mask V."

"You shan't need to. What I do I do for safety," he assured, "Not out of shame….

There is no shame."

"Then why cant I see you? Do you still not trust me after all we've done? After all you've taught me?" Her voice was raising considerably. V almost forgot how out of herself she was. As far as she pulled away, his hand remained on her cheek and that called her back into reality.

"I do trust you."

"I don't believe that." Evey pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. V said nothing, silently missing her warmth in his arms. She looked down at her feet and then turned her eyes to the wall to avoid them. _He couldn't give a damn about me, _her mind murmured, _He can't trust me. He can't talk to me. He just keeps me here because I have no where else to go… He can't love me…_

"I still think you're beautiful Evey."

"…"

…suddenly she felt herself strangely unable to breath. The room became very hot. She wasn't expecting this. From the tone she could tell that he wasn't patronising her. That wasn't the V thing to do… Then again, the idea that he was being honest was even less feasible. She honestly didn't know what to think. Perhaps she imagined he said it, she was tipsy after all. Something seemed entirely off. The temperature was wild. Her heart was beating in her chest beyond her control. Suddenly, she was aware of how hard she was breathing.

"I've always thought so." V noticed her shaking slightly and silently slipped the warm blanket over her bare shoulders. She finally turned back to him.

"Really?" She mumbled almost inaudibly.

He gave a silent nod.

She moved closer to him now and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Tell me that you trust me?"

"I trust you" She looked him deeply in the eyes.

"Show me..?"

"Evey, You know that I can't."

"Why?"

"Evey…" He gave a small sigh. "When you look at me, I want you to see who I am… not what I am. This mask is who I have become."

Suddenly, he stood and moved toward the door. She followed him placing a hand on his back to keep him from leaving. He turned slightly_. _"…I understand if you aren't satisfied with that." There was a moment before he turned completely to her but he didn't meet her eyes. V rested a hand on her shoulder in some attempt to comfort her but moved no further. It _was shame, he realised. The very idea brought him discomfort. All that he was could be reduced to nothing by this woman. Just with a glance. _

"_It isn't anything against your strength of mind but I know that your respect for me would be diminished…"_

"_V. " She said, silencing him, "You've tortured me." The hand on her arm released slowly and pulled away. "And I still respect you." Eyes met hers. The hands she had placed on his shoulders slid down to his own. "I will always respect and admire you."_

_The masked man stared at her for a moment, examining her face. She wasn't lying._

_He had, as with many things, been over this scenario in his head before. He could see the fear in her eyes in his daydreams. The rejection would be the hardest part. Just knowing that he had made the mistake. If he did this now, there was no going back to the way things were. There was so much at stake here and now but the look in her eyes told him what he needed to do. If it wasn't now then it would have too be someday and there would be even more on the scale by then. She lowered him back down to the bed, the mirrors glass crunching under their feet, and held his hands in hers. _

_V took a breath…_

"_Alright."_


	13. Chapter 13

This chapter is dedicated to my ol' writing partner KJ

* * *

The air was delicate and silent. Evey waited for him to make a move but he appeared to be considering something. His head tilted upwards over her head, distracted. She continued to wait, broiling for a moment in her own thoughts.

She was forcing him into this. He was drunk, practically. In comparison to his usual condition he was at least out of himself. She was pressuring him, but without a doubt in herself, she needed this to happen, she couldn't have stopped him if she tried. Finally he muttered:

"If you would please…?" …_do the honours? _

He wanted her to do this. Evey could hardly move her body at all. This wasn't her. This was him. He was asking. Before she could force herself to make a move he slid his hands behind his hair and unclasped the black straps himself. Almost by magic her hands were in the air hovering just in front of him, preparing to lift the shell off of his face. It wasn't until then that she realised just how close they were sitting. Evey could feel his warmth on her face. Skin touched against the cold porcelain and stayed there a moment. He covered her hands with his own, holding them still.

"Evey, if you would please close your eyes? For just a moment."

After a second of drunken reflex, she did so. V took a moment of breath before finally pulling away the mask. Cold air on his face. He took another. One gloved hand reached above him and slid the wig from his head. Then he opened his own eyes. As always the first thing he took in was the light. Immense and golden the sandstone room. It was always an adjustment, which was why he kept the lighting in his own quarters quite low. Looking down from the ceiling, his eyes finally fell on her face. V felt his breath catching. This was the first time, he realised, that he'd seen her without the gauze of black fabric. Her delicate arched features, her tiny form, her open curved lips.

"May I..?"

"Wait." His heart sank. V felt hot and cold chills in his chest. She was too beautiful. He couldn't do this. Her eyes on him. _Disgusted. _

_Rejection was one pain he hadn't accustomed. From her it wouldn't be survivable. V couldn't even imagine…_

…Her eyes were already open.

To V, the fragile oxygen crumbled into the silence. There was no air here. No heat. No light. Everything was gone. It was just those two, in a spaceless space. _Words couldn't exist here, _he thought. He needed to leave. He would do anything to bring back the hot black gauze. To bring back the few moments that had alluded him.

"V?"

V couldn't even bring himself to move and inch.

An _inch_..?

_This was his inch. Dangling in front of him. About to be taken away. _Before him was the frayed end of his rope.

"V..?"

He could see it now, so clearly. Astonished at his blindness only a moment ago from something so obvious. Dread surged in him, this was possibly the greatest mistake he'd ever made.

"V... can I see your eyes?"

_I've closed them. _

_Why?_

Evey found herself uncertain of where to look. She felt absolutely, wonderfully out of touch with everything else right now. Everything but him. This was his face. His secret treasure, shared with her and only her. She felt so humbled suddenly at that idea.

His skin was that same ridiculous specked shade of pink and rose that hers was but smoothed much more in patches. Contorted and glossed in the light. V was dipped and stretched endlessly. There as no patch not worth seeing. He was amazing, she realised. Beautiful even, in the most abstract of ways. Yet he refused to meet her eyes. This moment was precious, and she was wasting its seconds. She blurted his name out again nervously, if only to pick at the tension. It was doing her no justice. He wasn't moving a muscle.

"V, please?"

He'd gone this far, V considered, Why not go another step? You're at the edge, the only dignified way to go is to leap..? He lifted his chin as if to meet her eyes again but turned his head away. To her, he looked so ashamed. The wrinkles around his eyes contorted.

Heat under his chin. Strokes of tiny fingers.

Like fire.

_She was touching him. _

V quickly caught her hand in his own and held it away. He valued the impulse and hated himself for it all at once. Twitches around his eyes.

"I am an idea. Not a face." He said. His voice, she thought, coming from this face. The two seemed so distant. Evey felt strangely entranced in he feel of his skin on hers. Rock on rock. Sandpaper on sandpaper. Slowly, he started to move as if to stand and leave. Evey caught his cheek with her other hand.

"You could be both."

"That's not possible." He turned towards the door.

"Please don't go." The hand that held hers released and moved for the mask. Her now free hand cupped his other cheek. "V please?" It wasn't until she said it that Evey realised just how close she was to him. A few tiny inches held them apart. V felt her breath against his lips. Finally his eyes cracked open.

Hazel met into Blue.

Blue into Hazel.

The two sat locked. Lost. V felt fantastically out of himself. His heart was on fire. His mind was blank. Evey knew he wasn't going anywhere. He could still feel her breath on his skin, drawing his eyes down to her lips. Despite their stretched pocked nature, to him they retained their full beauty. She would always be beautiful. Inside and out. He caught himself staring and looked back up into her eyes. They seemed sadder somehow.

A shaking thumb pressed against his own lips.

An inebriated thought came into Evey's mind. Without any restriction, she acted upon it.

Her breath heaved slightly. Louder than before. She leaned in close, closing the gap between them. The man could hardly breathe at all. A centimetre was all that remained. Evey's eyes fluttered shut. Panicking, V's mind instinctively ran over things to say to break the connection. Nothing came up.

It was too late anyway.

Her lips met against his and he was drowned completely out of his depth. Any inhibitions he had evaporated. She pulled him close. Leaned to press herself fully against his chest. One arm snaked around her back and the other at her waist. As he shifted, she moved his top lip between hers and pulled him closer. V held her tighter, heat blistering between them. Almost by instinct, she grabbed a hand full of his tunic. The mans heart hammered.A moan escaped her lips against his, the sound reached into him and crushed him from the inside. It was spiritual, this moment and he endeavoured to sink as deep into it as he could. Slowly, he dipped her back onto the bed, supporting her back with his hands as she held his face to hers.

Her fingers smoothed over his skin, exploring his heat. It was such a strange friction. Rough yet not distracting. Soothing in its own way. Evey pulled away a moment to breath.

It was heaven, this feeling, this movement. V was amazed at how well he was containing himself. The unmasked man poured over her long swan neck as it faded in and out of vision. Glasses of champagne. Just two. Since the beginning of the year he had abstained from touching rum. This was too much. He was in too far. He breath sagging, V looked up into the eyes of Evey. _They were closed…_

_By the time they were open again he was gone, mask in hand, out into the darkness of the gallery. _


	14. Chapter 14

Bacon and Eggs popped and fizzed against the still mid morning. V was not in the kitchen, though he had only just been. Returning home from delivering Mr. Finch he had headed to the stove to cook for her. But five minutes simmering in his own thoughts had found him lost in some far corner of the gallery. Eyes wrapped around some oddity. Thus when Evey entered the room following the smell of an every day gallery morning she found herself alone in the kitchen, watching the food burn.

She just wanted to know what she had done wrong? Had she?

She really couldn't remember a thing honestly. For all she knew, the entire thing could have never happened at all. And yet she could still feel him. Wholly in her arms, holding her, _needing_ her. That wasn't a dream. That was real. Looking now at the place where he used to be now, she felt herself needing him too. She switched off the stove and moved the pot to the sink before perusing after the man. She wasn't really very hungry anyway.

For the first time in a while in the Shadow Gallery, it was going to be a very long day.

Hammond took a deep breath and knocked on his bedroom door… Nothing..?

"V," she half mumbled. Looking around she examined the room for a trace of him. Smoke lulled vaguely around the ceiling, not a book out of place. Next to the piano sat an empty bottle of champagne, his brother half filled at his side, a few hours stale. V had certainly not waiting long out here. He had to be inside. Calling out a little louder she spoke his name again. There came no answer…

Waiting just around the corner, in the passage to _her_ bedroom he stood. As he moved to indicate himself she spoke and he froze, slipping back behind the stone to listen.

"V, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I haven't been myself recently and I- Its not to say I regret what I did but just… just the way I did it." She took another deep sigh before cooling her tone and saying: "I forced you into doing something, which was wrong of me." V watched her nervously roll her lips. "I just wanted… I just wanted to say that… I guess I had too much to drink. I tend not to be my self when I'm drunk. I took advantage of you."

… "I'm sorry"…

"Please just don't be angry at me" On that note her voice turned sour, sad. Turning away from the door to head back for clean clothes, she found him three feet away. Feet in military stance but his hands loose at his sides.

"There is nothing to be angry over. What I did, I did of my own will." Trying to look into his eyes through the blackness to find the truth in his words, she settled for his solid eye contact.

"Alright," She said.

"I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly," He said advancing a step.

"There's nothing to be sorry over," she returned. After a breath she turned to head to her room, just before meeting the hall, she heard him call.

"Thank you." he said.

"For what?"

"For a very happy Christmas." A small smile crossed her face before she disappeared behind the stone.

* * *

Off in the night, someone was working.

David Rackley, unlike many of the Dramatis Personae you (reader) have been introduced to since our beginning, was NOT a supporter of the Norse fire party. In fact quite the opposite. As a hard working man, laying bricks had been made hell in the past 10 years.

There was no mercy for the lower class in that world. Though this was not made better by the revolution necessarily, now there was no mercy for anyone. At the very least there was more business now. No man was more scouted than a repair man after the world had been set on fire.

That said, this was not something he wanted or _needed_ to do. The end of a gun said otherwise.

"Just Finish this fucker off so I can go home!" Said the voice in the corridor.

After the revolution the cells had been made a skeleton of wreckage and iron. There were no cells like finger torture cells. It took an expert to fix one up properly. As much as he hated it, Rackley was the only man that fit that qualification, the only one they could find. They only needed one cell. In the opinion of his captor it was taking a bloody long time to get it done.

As David patched over the last of a crack, he called out to the man in the hall.

"Leave 'er for a couple days to get solid. I'gets stronger when it stays wet for longer this stuff so don't rush." Backing out of the little grey box, he turned and looked him dead in the face. "Other than that I think you're about done."

"Oh", sighed the other, "Thank fuck for that." Drawing his pistol, he shot Dave clear between the eyes, straying blood into the wet cement.

* * *

Things continued much the same as ever that day. Quietly the two slipped from place to place reading and watching television. In the afternoon V prepared dinner and she gave him a hand, making a small salad. The two sat on the couch and watched an old German Christmas film.

"I remember this from when I was a kid," she mumbled curling her feet up under her. V turned, it was the first time she had spoken in a while.

"Yes, It used to be a traditional thing, every year they'd play it on the BBC. Even back when you were a child."

Absentmindedly, she said:

"Did they when you were a boy?"

"I don't know." He said bluntly. At this she turned to him.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't remember." V was now fully focusing back on the screen. This wasn't the time for this conversation. He said no more, knowing Evey would come to her own conclusions. She knew he was in prison before the reclamation. She could put two and two together.

"Of coarse. I'm sorry"

…_And there it is… she is a clever one, my Evey _

…_My Evey…_

…_my_ Evey…?

On screen a butler was running from end to end of a table pouring wine for guests that weren't there to appease his senile mistress. An invisible audience gigged and clapped as he took a swig for himself and continued to drunkenly fling celluloid food onto the plates, stumbling as he did so. Evey could definitely remember this.

Out of habit, the masked man stood and reached behind the couch under a small table for a box out of which he pulled a rolled blanket. Draping it over Evey, he returned to his seat as if he'd not noticed he'd moved at all. The lady found her eyes on him a moment. His head turned to meet her, tilting in inquiry.

"Thank you," said she in a strange admiring tone. Almost breathlessly? V waited for her attentions to turn away but their eyes stayed locked. "You really do so much for me," she said.

"I do what I can." She appeared to consider this for a minute, a small smile fading on her lips.

"I can't stay here forever you know," she sighed, " I can't expect you to always take care of me." He gave a small noise as a reply, a grunt, looking again at the screen as he did so. He _hated the very thought. _"Will you miss me when I'm gone?" V considered this.

"Where would you go?" In his shape and tone there was suddenly a mournful tinge she hadn't expected.

"Oh I don't know, somewhere up north. In the countryside. Find an old abandoned place and make it my own." He nodded. "A skill I learned from you." V allowed himself a small laugh.

"Well I'm happy you'll have taken something from this place you can really put to use." He looked solemn and sighed. "I really will miss you when you've gone." She smiled.

"You care about me," she said. He turned to look at her again.

_More than you could ever know…_

"I must confess, more than I ever thought I would," She could hear a smile in his words. "or could."

"I feel the same." She flashed him a brief smile before an uprise in music swelled from the television and stole her attentions away. "it's a long program isn't it?"

V said nothing in reply.

On the television the special was coming to an end as the old woman slowly rolled bed covers over the drunken butler, then scampered down the hall to attend to her invisible guests and escort them out.

"I am truly amazed you could ever find yourself caring about me. After all I've done," he spoke.

"Well, I've proven it now haven't I?" she said. V's heart leapt at the memory, but he held himself down.

"Indeed," he said concealing the sudden glee. _She really cares about me. My Evey cares about me. _V rolled the words over and over in his head. _MY Evey CARES about ME… _

On that note, Evey's mind wandered. How was she ever to cope without him there. Cooking and cleaning? Her mind accused her of relying far too much on him. _But truly he meant so much more than that, she confessed. More than he may ever know. _

The screen faded into black. Instantly V stood and helped her to her feet. As he headed away, she kept hold on his hand:

"V?"

"Evey?" He said taking a tentative step back towards her.

"If I left London, moved somewhere out of the way? Would you come with me?" V let out a tiny gasp, as if by accident it seemed. She did love to catch him off guard didn't she?

"If I were needed, then… I would love to." She grinned. Eventually she released him and headed past him down her own corridor.

"Goodnight V."

"Goodnight."


	15. Chapter 15

Strong Language, just sayin'

STRONG language (O_O)

* * *

_Media men, _he thought.

Striking a match on the ally wall, Eddy Bryant ignited the end of his cigarette.

Media men.

There were millions of Brits.

There were thousands of Londoners.

But all of them were influenced, every single day, by the men and women of the London Media

Of which there were only a miniscule hundred or so.

Edward was one of these.

Like most men his age, who were still alive here and now, he used to be a Finger man. But he moved into Central Police after Almond died and Creedy came in. People changed when they worked for Creedy. Then, after two years and a slow pay decline, he moved into Public Service Security at the BTN to get a bit more money. He had a girl at home then, a little one whose mother had left on errands and never come back.

Tiny, pale little thing. Blood, bones and skin.

That was Monica.

And after a while as a guard he moved into the Broadcasting world. Fiddling with electronics, moving cameras, setting Lights, it was a kind of promotion only with no pay change. Bit it gave his life meaning, that was the thing. Life was alright in the BTN._ Great _actually, come to think of it…

…In comparison to now. Though it hadn't really seemed like it at the time. _You don't really you what you've got till it's gone, _he reflected. At least back then, life had been simple. And then there was the Fifth.

That's when everything changed.

It was about 7 in the morning and he had walked to work with Lionel. They had coffee in the security 'lounge' then headed upstairs to set up for Deitriche's Hour. The security had been short that day since half the country was off working to clean up the old Bailey's wreckage. He should have gone out there that day, all the Ex-Fingers had, it was their duty as public service. But he'd gone into work anyway. Ed had to double up as security that morning with Huddy and James to scan-check boxes in the mail room. He'd switched with Jarrod at about 7:45. The Alarms went off at 8 o'clock sharp.

He, James and Huddy were the ones to break the stage door in. He was the one to take down the first cloak.

And at first, he'll admit, he kinda felt like a hero, taking down the masked man. People treated him like one since, those who recognised him. Those who believed the lie. And it _was _a lie. Everyone who had been there knew. He wasn't dead, not then, and not now. Edward knew V was still around. Somewhere, hiding.

Like a fucking coward.

He knew the second that old security guard screamed, that he hadn't hit the right man. He and some policeman lugged old Fred out into the hall for the medics to take care of him. Masks were ushered out into the corridor. He remembered thinking…_he's here somewhere, he has to be… _Keeping his hand on his gun, he waded through the black figures and into the door. Out burst the final pair.

One was screaming and screaming, out of habit he pulled his weapon. The last thing he could remember was the wet snap as the blade came through his shoulder. He blacked out after that.

_I had that fucker underneath me. I had my gun at his head, _he thought, sucking down the smoke.

All that happened from then,

It was all fucking V.

The coldness in the night air sharpened his agitation.

Monica…

They came and took Monica away while he was in hospital. Off to the Juvenile Care-Centre in Lincolnshire. That was the last he saw of her. He was took weak to leave the quarantine zone, they said. They took away my baby. _He _took away my baby. For the first time since he could remember, he cried. The day they told him she was gone. She was the only thing he had in the world. She couldn't last up there. Moni was such a little thing. The worst part was just not knowing what was going to happen to her.

_He could only imagine…_

In all his time in the Finger had had never hurt someone like V hurt him. Never.

God as his witness, he'd never taken advantage, he'd never harmed a soul.

He'd done nothing wrong.

Eddy took the paper tube from his lips and looked at it in the minimal lamp-light, its tip gleaming like the sun. He wouldn't be here without cigarettes, he mused, they got him through it. Pulling another from his pocket, he lit it on the dwindling tip of the first. His little sun hissed at it hit the damp pavement. As the second filter hit his lips, his pocket started beeping.

He sighed something awful, and then answered the mobile.

Jimmy's breathy voice muttered. "We've found him."

_Beep._

Needing no further introduction, he switched it off again and was in his car before a minute was ended.

A second cigarette was left smouldering between the damp ally stones.

Its little sun flickered out.

* * *

Eric wet his lips and fished around in his jacket pocket for the little cup, analysing the walls as he did so. No security cameras? None that he could see? Well no one came down here, not in years. It only made sense. Even so, it didn't seem like V at all. Not the V he knew. Perhaps he'd passed one and not noticed? The idea he was being watched struck an off key in him. Finch set down the china on the concrete before the door and walked away, trying to keep his pace steady.

The little teacup was taken not half an hour later by a hand that was not gloved. Within that next hour it was on the unoccupied passenger seat of Edward's car.

He felt so close, so very close.

* * *

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"I was so sure of it… maybe it's the way mum read it to me?"

"It was 'the', I believe originally but became 'a' through years of interpretation." *

"I suppose so," Evey mulled over her coffee. "Though that totally changes the meaning of the sentence."

"And the structure as well, if looked at from a writer's perspective."

"Mm," Evey agreed, nodding. Taking a sip of her coffee, she absorbed a moment of silence from the room and was struck by a weird thought. "We don't talk about anything but Shakespeare much do we?" she observed. "Just recently, I mean? Since the Revolution?"

"I suppose not," V said in a thoughtful tone. "You and I have used up all our other conversation it seems. We have had nearly a year to…talk."

"But there's no limit to ranting about Shakespeare," she laughed. V nodded in response, a small chuckle escaping him. "Still, there must be something else to sit and chat about?" Pausing a moment to finish her coffee, Evey took a breath and thought. Her eyes still on her cup she muttered eventually: "Whats your favourite colour?"

_And when all other conversation is used up, it's time to take about me… _V thought.

"Hazel," he answered automatically, "and yours?"

"It changes every day with me, but for now it's a kind of… deep aqua?"

"Hmm?" V rolled his tongue over his teeth and leaned back against the counter. "What's your favourite novel?"

"At the moment?"

"Mm?"

"The Great Gatsby," said Evey, "Yours?"

"Oh there are so many…" he said, his voice reflective.

Down the passage that lead from the pantry beside him, there was a small room in which were five television screens. On one monochrome face glowed the image of three men. One suited, two in shirts and slacks. The band stayed shortly examining the door and walls before them, then without a word, they were gone.

* * *

Now, Peter , Peter _was _Norsefire. He lived it and breathed it. It was his house and his wife and his money. Edward and anyone else who knew him could see it. Government became him. It owned him. It gave him everything he ever wanted.

So when it was gone, so was he.

Eddy knew Peter from way, way back. Before the years in the Finger even. Way back when he was meek and tiny and sad looking. They'd gone to school together in Kensington when it had been nothing but tiny little parks and houses. It seemed like a thousand years ago now. Way back before Viadoxic had cashed in. Then Pete left the real world and became part of the party. He had a woman at his side and a flat in Marylebone, two little boys who he have everything to. And the money lasted, and was going to last. Everyone knew Pete, but no one did like Creedy did.

The party made the money last.

It was a shame really.

Without it he just wasn't himself anymore, it seemed even his face had changed.

But he stuck with Eddy.

To the end.

Which was soon.

But not quite soon enough for his liking.

* * *

"You know what?"

"What?" said V, leaning forward to grab the remote.

"I think," Evey said with a smile, "Right now I'm happier than I've ever been." At this V turned to look at her. "Just having a home, with someone to talk to. I can hardly remember another time like that."

"You know..?" he said, "…I feel much the same."

* * *

*Discussing a line from Viola's monologue from Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_


	16. Chapter 16

Like an orchid, they bloomed. First in twos, then into fives and tens. There were fingermen, that much is obvious, there were just workers - government workers on government missions, there were BTN top blokes who greased the countries massive iron lips, and there were priests, there were earmen and eyemen.

They were technical workers and wives and children. They were the horsemen who died in the riots, the mothers of babes who caught the cocktails and the friends and lovers of party members. This was not their revolution. This wasn't their world anymore. Norsfire was a fading glow slowly being snuffed out.

They were a smattering, who stood at its base with matches and burning paper.

By the pricking of my thumbs…

It seems me, our vendetta is inverted …

* * *

Lying in bed, Evey flicked aimlessly through an old paperback, absorbing nothing of meaning or cohesion. Impatiently, she waited for sleep who sluggishly denied her his presence. She set the book down and rolled over, burying her face in a pillow. Her mind wandered.

…V.

Her trail lead her right to V.

And suddenly all she could think of was...

Pressing her lips to him, feeling blistering heat score in her insides. His arms gathering her together, pulling her to him. Feeling someone wanting her. Feeling him needing her. She soaked up the sensation, basking in it while it lasted, egging her own thoughts on. As her memory solidified she insisted on it, trying to fill in the gaps as best her mind could. Evey tried to piece together a solid image of his face in her mind but it wavered and changed as she developed it.

And she was there with him on the edge of the bed again, her hands gripping to him tightly like she would fall if she let go. Things moving faster than possible, faster than light. Her hands consumes his soothing texture. Evey left a trail of kisses along his jaw…on his hand… feet…? He was away from her all of the sudden. Out of her arms. He was heading for the door, boots clattered on the stones. She could hear them. She felt them. Then everything was thrown into darkness.

Her eyes were open. _How long had her eyes been open? _In the black could be heard the echoing patter of his feet. The door creaked open…

…closed. The door was being _closed. _

"Wait?" she breathed. "V, is that you?"

"I was just turning off the lamp, Evey. I wouldn't want to waste oil, that's all." The creaking returned as he stepped back out into the gallery. V's shape cast an indistinct silhouette in the passage. His hat and cape were over his arm. "Goodnight."

"Where are you going?"

"Off to get some groceries for the morning."

"Wait!" _That was much louder than it should have been, _she thought. In the silence she could hear it had stopped him dead in the doorway. Evey was struck with nothing to say. He waited.

"Be safe… please? Come home safe." At this he remained still frozen. He appeared to be thinking, though she couldn't tell what about. V looked out at the clock and then back again. Eventually he inquired:

"Are you tired Evey?"

"Not really."…_maybe just a little…_

"Would you like to come with me?" In the dark, a smile crossed her face. He could barely see it but it was there.

"Absolutely." He breathed a smile in return, Evey could hear it.

"I'll get you a coat."

* * *

The world didn't feel whole. Not only to the rebels, but to everyone. There was order, it came in bursts. There wasn't total chaos, there wasn't absolute structure either. The best way to describe it is to say that things were the way they were.

Where they would go from there was anyone's guess. In some ways society was a poisoned flower afraid to grow again. In the absence of order, anger and fear continued to rage. People turned on one another. People turned against society. People turned against the church, against religion, against anything that had ever tried to give them order. While the pyre of burning cheering gratitude towards V and the revolution still seemed alive and well and while celebrations were many and people were living again, things were uncertain.

Stores were rebuilt and put back into business. The NBBC and BTN were wiped off the face of the earth, their remains fleeing to the clean zone's farthest corners. London was alive with riots in its car-less streets, though most of them made up of out of work men and women. Entire buildings were graffiti coated or burnt to the ground. But the fire department still ran. People colonised the abandoned zones like ants colonising fruit. As the city grew and spread, conflicts died out. London was London again, you could say.

V almost hadn't noticed till now. Evey walked at his side into the street as they headed out of a subway opening towards the east, where the trains tracks were.

"Its beautiful isn't it?"

"Sorry?"

"Lights," she said, "Lights in the city again."

"Yes. Very Beautiful." They made sweet little yellow squares that scurried across the shining surface of his mask. Her eyes were lost on his face.

The sunlight was weak and almost non existent casting over the two as they moved from tunnel to ally across endless streets until they reached the rail side loading yard.

"Why would they deliver no early in the morning?"

"The more refined things, the French bread and butter, the milk from Spain, the Meat and Clean Water are all the things that are brought in for those who can afford them. Sutler for example."

"Where will they go now?"

"Depends, do you like French bread?" Evey cracked a smile. It wasn't often that she'd heard him joke.

"And the fruit and vegetables come from the docks?"

"Usually," he whispered as they approached an unguarded car.

* * *

The night was fruitful to say the least.* The two returned to the tunnels no less than two hours later, each with a full black duffle bag at their sides.

"Thankyou. For letting me come, I mean."

"I hoped you'd enjoy it."

"It's nice to know how it's done, how you get it all." She heaved the strap of the bag up her arm a little.

"It's easier than I thought it would be."

"Its easier now that half the Chancellor's guard aren't skulking the tracks at daybreak." V pulled an ancient key from somewhere she couldn't see and unlocked the wooden door. The two unloaded the massive burdens in the kitchen. **

"I had a lovely time."

"Good, I did as well." he spoke adjusting his gloves. "It's nice to have some conversation."

"Its nice to have some fresh butter." They shared a glance in the dark, albeit accidentally, only lit by the tunnels dim distant bulbs. "Goodnight, V." Silently, Evey leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

A gunshot blared in the rear tunnels and Evey found herself surrounded in black.

* * *

*A pun so bad you (reader) are lucky I haven't been arrested under the Geneva convention for torturous puns

** OOOH so THAT'S where that kitchen door does...


	17. Chapter 17

_A note to the readers who've been sending me "I don't get it" messages, to help them keep along with it. _

_Allen, as you (reader) have noted before, is not actually named Allen. (you met him in Chapter 8, he was drunk… yeah that bloke, the bald one!) Though his first wife, funnily enough thought it was his name. Just as a throw back for those who need it, he was an ex-inner city fingerman along with Roger, who has sadly, since you last saw him, passed away in the fire at the hospital. His story-arch is over. But Allen's (William's actually… that's what he was christened as) is coming up now. _

_Yes, his name is William though he's been called many things. He was there, along with Peter and a few others. He was there in the tunnel… _

…_now where were we… _

…ah _yes… _

* * *

Evey was instantly enveloped in the darkness of V's cloak, the dim light from the tunnel snuffed out. Keeping her shrouded and pulled tightly against him, V moved around her in the black. He grabbed a coffee cup from the kitchen table at his side and in the excess of a second it smashed against the doorframe, spattering wet plaster into the faces of the intruders.

Temporarily confused, the front man found himself with a knife in the chest before he had time to move for his gun. He collapsed to the stone with a wet slap drowned in the sound of gunfire. William blasted victimless shots into the void , trying to hit what he could hit.

What he did hit was the jukebox, but little else. The same knife from Henry's chest slid soundlessly greased out of its place and slashed across Williams arm. His gun rattled on the tunnel floor, empty. V, barely scathed, broke his nose as he was hearing it fall. At the back of the group a second gun was fired, this time hitting home next to V's clavicle.

As the masked man's one arm slid a blade easily along the neck of a third victim, he felt warmth enveloping him from the back. A crushing feeling. Drugs. He slid the needle out of his shoulder, just barely having time to throw a final blade into the assailant's stomach before heavily crashing to the concrete tube tunnel's floor. As a second needle hit his back, the first chords of "Round Midnight" strummed from the Jukebox.

As he fell Evey let go of his massive body and, now exposed, was tranquilised from a third dart to the thigh. Along with V, she was collected up into eager arms and dumped in the back seat of an Earman's patrol van. Edward was the driver.

There were seven of them there that night, only four left alive. As much as it hurt to say, Edward convinced himself that it was worth it. Peter was dead and so were a few others… maybe… he didn't know. He hadn't turned around to see. It was completely worth every soul that was lost though. He was disgusted at his joy. His mind was abuzz with endorphins. In a flash his mind brought him back to Monica, wrapped up in his arms. Safe with him. It was all worth it. _It was completely worth it._

* * *

Eric Finch gave up. It had taken two days of solid thinking, but it was done. There was no conclusion. There was just solid objects and what to do with them. Personally he'd like to just pick them all up and get out of town.

He was a top man, a head man. And the only man among very, very few. He had no money, he had no job. His only solace was that there was no one out there ready to get him. So he was alone, like he always had been, and it didn't matter where he went or what he did. His options were practically limitless and he had spent two days running over all the things that he could be doing. He couldn't help rebuild this county. Not with the things that his men had done. If he exposed himself, he may as well be hanged. He would never fight for Norsfire. He had more raw hate for everything he'd contributed to now than ever before. He'd let people die. He'd let them suffer. He'd followed a bag of money away from all the burning and the genocide and just let it all happen.

He didn't know who Eric Finch was anymore. He just put it all down and gave up.

In the afternoon he had slid an old bottle of imported Hathaway's into his jacket pocket and headed out for a walk to clear his head. He walked towards the ocean. He kind of missed the ocean. When he got to the docks he almost turned to head back, but didn't. He wandered off towards the East End and just kept going.

By the time he told himself he wast going to come home again, he was heading out of the slums towards the abandoned M1. The sun was setting and he watched it as it went, standing silent. Finch felt cold all over, especially on the inside. Before continuing on, he rested a moment by a fire, a burning brotherhood bin, with a couple of old probably homeless men. *As he approached he heard a milky sweet voice…

"Oh God, not another one! How many of you tramps are living out here? It's… wait a minute… Finch?"

He stood dumfounded, trying to piece her face out of the darkness. "Finch? Is that you?"

"Mrs. Heyer?"

"Oh God. Edward Finch isn't it? Edward, I'm so glad to _see _you!" She ran up and hastily threw her arms around his waist. "The mob turned my car over on the way out of London and took _everything! _I've had to shelter with these louts just for protection…" Carefully, unsurely, he wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman. He hardly recognised her without makeup but her heavy fur lined coat spoke volumes at him. "And now you're here, that's different. I've always known you weren't like Conrad or Creedy or the others. You're like me," she looked up into his eyes, desperation running in tears down her face. "You're a survivor!"

Taking a moment to breath, she pulled him against her tighter. Eric couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen her… She spoke from the folds of his jacket. "Do you know how _long _I've been here?

"Eddie we need each other. Together we can salvage something, this mob aren't much but given time we could build a small army. We can restore order. Oh Eddie, we can do so much together, _you and me_… What do you say?" The homeless men looked on as if they saw nothing. No one spoke. Silently, he pushed her away.

As he turned for the highway, she called out behind him.

"QUEER!" YOU BASTARD POLICE ARE ALL QUEERS! GOD DAMN YOU!" She went on and on as he paced the crumbled pavement. The men at her sides tried to help calm her with chants of:

"Ay, c'mon Jeannie 'n' sit down wi'us." and "Issa way yet, till morning_." __**_

It was a way till morning, he knew, he thought, he took a sip of rum and continued on over the embankment and along the abandoned road. That was the last time he set foot in England, that night. The man who was no longer Eric Finch paced the open concrete till his shoes wore out. Then he went on without shoes.

* * *

James and Jarrod found a medical kit and stitched up William's (Allan's) arm. It was about 6 in the morning when the screaming started.

* * *

_Everything between * and ** was an excerpt from V for Vendetta the Graphic Novel. I needed Finch to have some resolution so I gave him his original resolution and therefore I co-wrote this with Allan Moore and David Lloyd. _

_Like my mother once said: "FUCK YEAH!"_

_(Btw, we're almost done here.)_


	18. Chapter 18

_Something nice I discovered this week ( fan fiction dot net/s/7946741/1/Vestige_of_a_Memory )_

* * *

It was hazy… he could comprehend that much. Black and misty. Aching and infinite. Pressure from all around, like breathing under water. There were the distance notes of some faint music, kind of, he wasn't sure what it was. V felt pinned by his own weight to the ground. Unsure and slow, he made his way to his feet and suddenly he felt as if the effort of standing has been nothing at all. He could almost fly right now. Somewhere... there was some niggling thing holding him back. An ache... then V almost thought he heard his name.

V could find his way in pitch black… usually… he thought, but… this wasn't that kind of darkness. He couldn't see or smell anything. There was nothing to see there.

_"Darling I need you"_

_"Lately I find"_

And there were those notes again, tick-tick-ticking away…

...it was an Ella Fitzgerald song*

_"Your out of my heart"_

_"And I'm out of my mind"_

_"Evey..._

Evey, where is Evey?

_"Let the Angels sing for your returning"_

_"Till our love is safe and sound"_

_"And old midnight comes around"_

_ The light empty tap of piano…_

This is a memory. An old memory.

I'm surprised at how well I can remember this song, he thought.

_"Feeling sad"_

_"Really gets bad"_

Where…?

_"Roooooooooooooooooooound"_

Where am I?

_"Roooooooooound…"_

Concrete… I can smell it, I can hear it. Concrete…

_"Roooooooooooooound…"_

_"Miiidniiiiiight"_

How long have I been here…

* * *

How long have I been here?

Slowly, the masked man opened his eyes. He felt… he felt rusty. Letting out a low growl he looked around. It all came straight back to him in a matter of seconds. He knew where he must be.

"V?" From the corner of the cell came a small voice, echoing lightly, sweetly. It was like a butterfly. V shook himself mentally and tried to sit up, pulling himself against the wall to face her. She practically flew to his side. "Oh thank god you're alright. I thought you were dead!"

She'd have checked my pulse..?

She can't hear it through the neck piece, he told himself obviously.

"Yes," he breathed, albeit more strained sounding than he had intended, "Oh, yes, yes, I'll be alright." He sat up straighter and flattened out his clothes with his bare hands. _They've taken my gloves? Why?_

Evey realised how wrapped around him she had been and pulled away, instead helping him to sit up and brushing off his back. A striking pain rippled up his spine and a second from his shoulder. Ah yes, his mind caught up, its all coming back to me.

The two were in a small cell about 3 meters by 2 with a tiny window 10 feet up one wall and a metal door on the opposing one. Ignoring his pain V got to his feet hurriedly and scanned the cell. His eyes set upon what he was looking for, in the corner of the floor, imprinted into the cement, was a cereal number and a smaller faded code. At the back of his mind, something chanted at him. He could figure this out?

16656 / 26-1

_And in brackets.._

(pdd..)

_166,_ _So we're in the outer east side Finger torture-chambers._

56...? He squinted in concentration. _56 would mean to the north- NO! We're on the western arm stretching into the underground… the underground… 26-1... _

…_these are the remodelled WW2 bunkers… they must be._

"V?" a startled terrorist turned around.

"I know where we are." Evey breathed a refreshing sigh. She looked so small in the half light, tiny and cold. Instinctively V tried to keep his hands hidden from sight while handing her his cloak, she looked like she might need it. He made a mental checklist, turning from her and padding down his sides: No knives, no wires, no blades? No blades without his gloves except…V felt the back of his boots along their seams, slipping two fingers between the leather, yes… something metallic, it would have to do. He would just have to wait till someone came in. Evey waited and watched as the masked man wandered round the tiny room, knocking on walls with his one knuckle both in the middles and the corners and along the cracks and smooths till he finally stopped and sat, staring at the open wall. She didn't dare speak, but waited an age before finally getting to her knees and moving to his side.

"Do you have any ideas?"

"A few," he spoke, almost whispering.

"Can I help?" He looked sidelong at her and nodded.

It took a moment, planned almost silently between the two, and Evey found herself lifted by the waist up to reach the tiny barred window and looking out into the light. Unthinking, she touched her hand out to the bars to keep balance and had a shock sent through her body and into the man below her. The two fell down, V catching her as she collapsed screeching and clutching her palm. V got to his knees and examined the area. It had left a burn, she was lucky to be conscious, heaven knows how high the voltage must have been. Unthinking she let out a second squeal as he opened and closed her palm.

My gloves… they took my gloves, V silently cursed himself. He would be happy to have been shot, it would have made it so much easier had they simply shot him, at least he wouldn't be here. _Then again, what if Evey had been hit, he couldn't forgive himself. She was here, here safe with him._

"There's a window, on the other side of the bars, there's daylight and a street. And around the window there are white bricks. Painted bricks," she said, half panting. He kept two hands clasped around her injured palm. The voice of reason spoke calculatedly to him from the back of his mind again, _they must have collapsed the original finger tunnels in the outer regions during the revolution, so they brought us here as a backup, to the Inner City tunnels. We must be on the top floor. Yes… 26- _1

He could barely scavenge for a memory but, somehow he knew he'd been here before. V was sure he knew why too. He pulled his cape tighter around her and stood. Examining the wall for the thickest of the hair-thin cracks, the masked man braced himself against the flat surface and brew back to deliver a blow.

* * *

It was weird, Edward thought, it wasn't exactly joy. It wasn't a happy feeling, not exactly. It was explosive and it was angry and it was sad and happy all at once. It was determination, he could feel, coursing through his veins like hot sand, painful and thick.

He felt so… he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Large" sort of. Huge and open and ready. READY! He forgot about everything he had ever been and just became himself, the him in the right now. The him in the zone, the Edward in the space between spaces. This was his world right now. He was the now, right now.

It was almost over.

He almost wished it wasn't, he could feel this way forever.

Still, it was coming to an end. By tonight, it would all be over.

* * *

_*The song started playing when William missed V and hit the Jukebox in the last chapter_

_this is the third time ive redone this chapter since ive published it. youll notice the small changes _


	19. Chapter 19

"Suns up early," James breathed as the two stepped out into the street. Hands in coat pockets, they melted into the morning scene, awash with people and glowing stone. The street was still wet from the night before. Their watches read approximately six, though Edwards was a little off.

* * *

V pulled away the loose concrete to reveal the thick imbedded wire behind. Pain raced through him and in an instant he was on one knee, clutching at his hand. Immediately Evey was on her feet feeling trying to pull him back from the danger. He shook his head looking up at her.

"No, no don't," he said, shaking his hand as if he had merely wet it, "I'll be fine." He looked back to the wall and sat in thought. Unthinking Evey took his damaged hand and pressed it to her lips in an effort to comfort him. The mask tilted up at her, and she looked back at it. Hurriedly, she set it down and apologised. He said nothing, only stared up at her. She looked back at the exposed wall.

"It's hollow. It has to be. " she said, "It wouldn't echo so much if it weren't." His eyes still didn't leave her face but he nodded in response. Finally he looked back to where she was focussing. "And we're running on city power?"

"No," he spoke "Were on a generator."

"How do you know?" V looked back at her (to himself he'd admit later, he got lost then in her eyes then. It was a sharp memory.)

"I can hear it." _She couldn't. _

The silence seemed louder than their words then, burning in the air. A moment drizzled slowly past.

"Were going to die," Evey said leaning back against the door. He turned to her as if to say "Of coarse not" but paused, staying silent. The two kept the glance a moment, Evey's face leaching into a worried frightened smirk. _She's trying to contain herself, _V thought automatically, _but she can't. _He could see the fear wet in her eyes. V took a moment to consider things and then came to her side, wrapping an arm around her back.

She pulled him close as if she'd never let go. At that moment he knew he'd get her home safe if it was the last thing he ever did, a prospect that seemed the more a reality the more he dwelled on it. A small tired voice, somewhere at the back of his mind inclined: _What does it matter? __What if we're dead by tomorrow? I could hold Evey until the end._

_In fact, I think I'd like that, if she wouldn't mind._

* * *

Dominic came out of the empty bedroom, empty glass in one hand, empty bottle in the other. Setting both down on the lounge he sat and took a breath. The man lay his head down on the couch and stared through the half open curtains at the city below. It was a nice apartment, he hadn't realised just how big it was till he had the chance to look.

He couldn't shake the horrible feeling, what a nice place this was, with Finch working for NF as hard as he did. They gave him this place. He was a well known name about the records. There could have been so much that Dominic didn't know about him. He could have done… anything… horrible things.

And they came for him. His stomach turned at the thought but... for all he knew _Eric deserved it. _

Fumbling in his pocket for the apartment keys, he locked the door and headed outside. People stared as the old car pulled up on the curb, he climbed in the passenger side and pulled away.

"What did he say?" He didn't look up, only replied:

"He's not in."

The car pulled out of town towards the M1, he didn't speak, neither did the driver. The first budding tree's lined the outer limits, the abandoned zones. Tiny saplings and weeds. There hadn't been a forest here in a thousand years, he thought. He felt comforted, though not much. Finally the woman at the wheel turned.

"I'm sorry love."

"S'aright."

"We tried."

"Yeah." Both looked ahead, as if talking to themselves, eyes fixed on the expanse of grey. "He wouldn't have liked it up north anyway." She half nodded.

As they turned into a massive dark tunnel a cluster of men slithered to the sides, parting to let the car through. Their faces lit dimly by sunlight and burning bins, he caught each and every one of their eyes as they passed. There was a sadness deeper than he'd ever seen there. In their eyes…

"Stop."

"What?"

"Stop the car." he spoke up, "turn around."

"What, are you crazy Dom? They'll kill us back there."

"No," he said, turning finally to look at his wife, "They _need _us."

* * *

V sat up suddenly.

"What is it?"

"Evey…," he said, his eyes locked on the bare wall. He stood and moved over to the foreign space by the bare metal.

"V don't. What are you doing? What if you set off an alarm?" Slowly, he moved his are hand close to the wire, inch by dragging inch. Visibly the electricity shot into his fingers and he pulled back, stepping up against the opposite wall. In a second he was back near the wire, testing the distance again. Evey leaned back to the door, he knew what he was doing. Hopefully.

He homed in again, his hand flat palmed. V let out a small breathy yelp as a crackling noise filled the cell. She waited a moment but he stayed still. Finally, without moving, he said:

"Put your hand on the door handle." She did so.

V reached out his other hand. Realisation dawned. Tentatively, she grabbed it.

Evey could feel the current running through her. Pulsating.

"If we keep enough distance, we can run down the generator. We just need to re-rout the flow," V explained. She nodded. _All we have to do now is wait, _Evey thought.

* * *

Edward fumbled through his pocket for a the key, producing nothing but fluff.

"C'mon mate. Its gotta be here somewhere." Edwards face snapped up to meet hiss partners gaze.

"Shut up," he fired like an eager gun, "just Shut Up!" James backed down. From his pocket, the first produced the key ring. Uncertainly, one slowly trailed the other inside.

* * *

V let out a light low groan.

"What-?"

"It's alright," he said instantly, "I'll be fine." She waited, holding tight onto his hand. He held back, tightly. Slowly his hand constricted around hers. He started to shake.

"V, stop!" She let go of the door handle and reached over to him, just as he collapsed backwards. Tenderly she cupped the side of his mask in one hand, pulled back and yelped, it was burning hot. V sat up swiftly and looked at her hand.

"Are you alright?" He spoke.

"Are YOU?" He nodded as if it were obvious.

"Fine, I'll be fine."

"V, this isn't working?"

"I will take some time. A few hours at most. We just need to keep at it."

"V, you're hurt."

"I'll be fine."

"You're being stupid! No you won't! I'm not going to do this if your hurting yourself…"

"And how do you suppose we'll escape then?" She shot him a look like she was willing to hurt him.

"Well, we can either wait it out, or you could do the sensible thing?" _Which is what? _he wanted to say. But he knew, and so did she. He wasn't going to turn this into an argument. She looked him in the eye and sighed. He reached up to hover over the metal grating again. He proffered his other hand.

"Evey, I-"

"No, no I'm not doing this. I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Evey," he said sternly, "You're being immature. Give me your hand-"

"Take it off V, there's no point. Its not worth it." He breathed through his teeth and said in a smooth growl:

"The longer we wait to start up again, the longer this will take."

"No," she said, "No, I'm sick of this. I'm sick you not trusting me. I am! I can't wait forever V! You know that they can kill us, and they WILL kill us! If they can take you down, they can do it. We're dead V, if we cant get out of here! So what does it matter anymore? I don't care what you look like! I DON'T CARE!"

V assured himself that she wasn't angry at him, only at the predicament. But she started getting louder and angrier. He decided to let her get it all out. "You know what you are? Your nothing but a… but a… vain and selfish and…" her shoulders started to shake. "You do nothing but hurt people and talk crap! You've killed more people than anyone you've killed has-"

"That's not true!"

"How many people have you killed V?", she snapped, "How many lives have you ruined?"

"To save thousands more."

"So killing people is ok as long as some people are safe._ But taking your god-damn mask off to save ours is impossible?" _

"I can get us out with the mask on Evey!"

"I'm only trying to protect you V! You are the one who's being really fucking immature! I just don't want you to get hurt! I care about you!" Her voice cooled slightly as his picked up.

"I don't care if I get hurt! I don't care if I die! It only matters that _you _are safe! I'm only doing this for you!" This seemed to stop her for a moment and the two stared at one another. Both a little out of breath.

"If you l-… If you cared about me you would t- you would trust me…" she said.

"I do, you know that I do." V realised how loud he was speaking. He also realised that he was holding her gently by the shoulders, unsure to pull away. He took a breath "I've shown you that I do Evey." She shook her head.

"I thought that wasn't real? I thought..?" Evey tried to explain but settled for a sigh and wrapped her arms around his chest." "I'm so sorry V…"

"I know I- … as am I." He held her, tighter than he usually would have let himself hold her. Then finally he glanced over at the crumbled wall.

V let go of her and reached up into his hair. There was a _click _and the white metal started away from his face. He hesitated. Delicately, Evey's fingers slid under the side and bottom ridges and pushed it back over his head, taking his wig with it. The mid day sun caught off the top of his head, that was the first thing she saw, he didn't meet her eyes.

_This was him. You're looking at him_, her mind jittered. She cupped a hand under his chin. He half pulled away, V's eyes still on the floor.

"We need to get this done." His eyes rose to look at the wall beside her. She didn't move. Finally he made the final step and quickly met her gaze. His face read to her solemn and frightened. He looked incredibly sad. _Maybe that's just the way he looks? _Evey found herself caught up in his eyes, a violent blue against the red and white. Nothing moved, the whole world was still. A thought struck her but…this wasn't the place and this wasn't the time she had in mind, but that didn't matter. This was their time, knowing V it may never happen again. Unless…

"V," she said holding his face on both sides, shaking only slightly, "You would die for me?" He let out a small breath. Evey thought she almost caught a smile, though she couldn't be sure. In a soft voice so far from his face yet so… him, he said:

"You nearly did the same for me." An explanatory voice, a real voice. His voice, almost like she'd never heard it till now.

"Only because I love you." The terrorist's brain halted its every cognation. Unthinking, his expression transited into that of complete amazement watching her eye to eye. _She... she..._ All that remained was that tiny voice in the back of his mind: _Were going to die anyway. For god's sake what does it matter? Why are you waiting? _He shook his head slightly as if trying to shake himself of what he was thinking.

But Evey couldn't tell what he was thinking. Her eyes shot all over his expression, exploring, confused. Fire in her chest. So exasperated was she, she let out a small giggle. Before she sound had left her lips, he had her wrapped in his arms in a passionate kiss.

* * *

_Thank you to those who still review this, your numbers are dwindling, I wonder why? if there's anything i can add, please tell me. Review if you have fingers to type with (and if you don't, feel free to review complaining about how I'm insensitive toward people who don't have fingers... with some help of coarse)_

_PLEASE REVIEW! I"D LIKE TO THINK PEOPLE STILL READ THIS IF I STILL WRITE IT?_


	20. Chapter 20

Author's note: "SMUT! Smutsmutsmut! SMUUUUUTTTT!"

* * *

A surprised Evey Hammond froze into place. His warmth against her lips, she couldn't move, she couldn't even blink. Her eyes focused only on his pink rippled lids. Her two hands took in the texture of his face where they cupped his cheeks. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and catching her gaze, moved away. His face was a portrait of apology and excitement, she hadn't any idea what to make of it. _He… V…he… _She felt suddenly faint at the thought… All she could think to do was stare. The air was thick as ice.

"V…V… you _kissed _me..?" and her mind said automatically: _yes Evey, he knows that… _

…an age passed while nothing changed. Her body felt strange and intense like sand raking through her veins. Little was she aware of how fast she was breathing. A few vital inches separated their staring faces, burning the with energy that evaded them.

Taking the stillness to be rejection, V slowly pulled away towards the cracked concrete wall._ Dread seeped in_. But her hands stayed glued to his face, holding him still. She said nothing. Her heart hummed like an electric motor. V found nothing in her eyes that he could read? He waited, she appeared to be thinking but never broke his gaze. It took him a moment to realise she was allot closer than she had just been a second before.

Her head tilted and she halted, hovering over him. V couldn't stop himself half smiling in the second before the distance between them had vanished. Flushed skin met against flushed skin. All his thoughts were expelled as if they had never come. Where they were and what they were. Nothing else existed. V felt hers, utterly, utterly hers and hers alone. He wrapped himself around her waist.

Evey's chest hammered. Grappling two arms around his neck, she pulled him ever closer. His gentle breathing against her nose and lips sent heat rippling all down her back. She closed her eyes. Feeling him, smelling him, tasting him. She ran her fingers up the spine on his tunic, feeling his body as it rose and fell against her. His un-gloved hand stroked her side. As the heat welling in Evey's stomach built, V's kisses got rougher and faster.

* * *

Edward twisted the cigarette tight between his thumb and fore, running its sticky side across his tongue.

"How's it looking?" James pulled himself up from under the panels and stretched his back.

"I've almost got it," he cringed. "Just gimme a half a minute to rewire the rest of the system that I've clipped. We don't want any loose wires breaking off the flow." He got back to his knees and rolled onto his back. "Pass me the main wire… No, no the other… the big red one connected to the… thank you."

"I was always only good with the lights-"

_Vrrp vrrp vrrp _

_Vrrp vrrp vrrp_

Edward snatched the phone from the metal desk. Jarrod's voice answered to his unarmed ear, shrilly and suddenly. James waited and listened… Edward's sweating face flickered and contorted.

"What?" he said in a breath.

"What is it?" Jim piped. His partner held up a hand.

"What the fuck did you do to it?" _loud on the other line Jarrod answered_ "No! No! That's not what we planned Ja-"… "I don't care!"…"This was your fucking idea, now fix it…" _beep. _He heaved his shoulders back and sighed.

"Ed, wh-"

"They fucked up the wiring down at the base. They cant get it connected."

"Well, I could do it?"

"No, I mean they broke the PSC"

"Oh shit…"

"Shit…" Edward remarked… "shit…Shit! SHITSHIT SHIT!" He threw the black plastic at the floor and it flung open. Leaning against the sound proof window of the BTN booth, he covered his face with his hands. "What the hell do we do? We can't keep waiting!" His shoulders shook as he breathed.

"Well…" James rolled his lips uneasily. His friend was not well. _Maybe you should sit down_, he wanted to say. But he wasn't going to tell Eddy what to do right now, not if he wanted to keep his nose in place. He spoke softly and uncertain: "We'll head back and see what we can do… aright?" Ed toiled his tongue over his teeth.

"Yeah," he muttered, putting the cigarette to his lips.

James packed up his gloves and phone and headed out the booth door, slowly perused by Ed. His mind on other things, Jim could tell, though what he wasn't sure. He could wait, he'd be happy to wait. These things took time. Throwing his bag over one shoulder. James felt in the dark for the studio door, hands tracing along the wall till he found a switch.

An array of golden floor-lights fumed colour into the studio. He hissed and closed his eyes. Edward stook stock still, staring at the set. Finally he found the door handle and slipped out into the hall.

"Eddy?" he turned, "y'alright?" A silhouette statue, burning white gold all along one side.

"Hmm? Yeah… yeah…" Ed followed him to the door. "I've got an idea."

* * *

Pulling him flat to her, Evey ran her hands along the length of his hips, his shoulders and back. He hummed against her lips, turning to the side a moment to breathe. Then the man ran a line of tiny kisses down her neck, murmuring sweet words against her skin between each.

"I'm not… too…? This isn't going too fast is it?" In that split second she found her eyes on his lips, torn and flattened on one side.

"No," she moaned shaking her head and moving him forcefully back to her face. Their kissing started off slow again than grew more and more wild, almost becoming violent in its friction. Subconsciously, Evey pulled at his clothing as she tempted him closer and closer to clawing through hers.

V felt wet heat run across his teeth. He parted his lips and let her slip her tongue between; this summoned a warm moan from her. He slid his tongue over hers, eliciting the same reaction from him. She swept her hands over his broad shoulders and pushed him against the wall. The two met eyes for precious seconds, touching noses, _though he was lucky to have one, _she thought. Her fingers traced lines across his face, exploring and soothing him.

Trapped in the tiny space the two twisted and oozed around each other. Pulling away a moment, she kissed down his jaw and neck, fingers fidgeting with the fastenings in back. He smoothly undid them for her.

V murmured softly to his love:

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that." He cupped her face in one massive hand. She leaned in and kissed him gently just on the edges of his lips. He smiled. The words built up again in her throat, like eager fire.

"I love you V," she whispered, closing her eyes and pressing her lips full to his. V pulled her against him, one leg on either side of his waist. She trapped him against the concrete like a fly, but he made no motion to escape. Heavy breathing blaring at each other silenced and released, unstopping, unyielding. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and pulled it away, anxiously running her hands over the silk underneath, absorbing what feeing she could.

"I love you," he breathed, almost inaudibly. Still she stopped her lips tracing the curve of his neck, and looked at him. Only when she pulled back did Evey realise how close she had been. As well as she could remember, she'd never been this close to anyone, not of her own will. Their forehead's touching, her eyes fluttered closed.

"I love you…"

"I _love _you." She smiled, more widely than she thought she had. There was a desperation in his voice that made the moment all the more real.

"_I love you V_."

"I love you Eve-" she cut him off with a long kiss before he could finish and then whispered:

"It's about damned time too."

* * *

"We're gonna have to do this tomorrow…" Jarrod said, looking over the mess of wire. James came in with a length of cable in one hand and a torch in the other, kneeling into the wreckage.

"Is there any more coffee?" Jarrod held the light for him as he worked.

"I think there's about half a pot-"

"Hold this."

"-about half a pot left. We have to be stingy though, make it last till tomorrow."

"Whose on watch tonight?"

"Eddy," he turned to the man sitting on a desk, leaned against the white brick wall. "Ed?" The man didn't move. "You ok?" …._still nothing? _This wasn't his problem, Jarrod thought, he must be tired. Everyone was tired. "Ed, you might wanna sneak in a wink before ya shift?" …_maybe he is asleep, just with his eyes open…? Must be? _

"Im'ma get some coffee."

"And one for me," called Jimmy.

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

Shakily Evey started to unbutton her cardigan, her mouth still locked on his. He let out a small sweet noise as the final button came undone and she pulled it back over her shoulders. V leaned into her, his arms curling smoothly around her back. She slid two tiny hands over and under his cotton undershirt, untucking it and fumbling with the buttons. They were ivory.

Unspeaking the both looked down at her hands working to undress him. V's mind insisted that this was more than he could handle, that he didn't deserve this, that he was years older than her, that he was ugly, that he was uncomfortable. Some part of him was _dying_ for an excuse to pull away, but he knew deep down that it was fear, fear trying to work its way in and pull them apart. As she gently kissed him again, all his inhibitions drained and he became all but intoxicated in her. Shirtless, her scent surrounded him. Pleaded with him. Hunted him and ravaged him. All alone in the blank space, she was everything he could sense.

Without consulting his brain, V's body had her on the floor. Her breathing was all that he had ever wanted to hear, louder and louder and he kissed more and more. Legs locking around his waist, she pulled him fast against her. He made noises he didn't recognize.

* * *

That day lasted forever. To everyone, it could well have been the last of their lives.

Except Edward. But _tomorrow waited for him._

* * *

_SMUT! _


	21. Chapter 21

A hiss

Curling in the mid-loom, mid-day, mid-light, hot air from the floors below wheezed out of a weary cracked pipe.

A tick and another and another.

He listened intently to it, shaping the sound.

It felt like skin being scratched. And again. And again.

As.

Each of the walls caught the clock. As it

Tick

Tick

Ticked.

On and on.

A hiss, Edward sucked on the smoke, held and released it. He took a swig of Jack Daniels and rolled his lips. They kept some damned amazing liquor in the underground forts. He was amazed someone hadn't come and found 'em all.

A scratch, he thought he heard. He jerked. His ears tuned to find it.

Nothing

A hiss

Tick tick tick tick

"…ahh…"

Thump thump thump

His headache stretched at the sides of Edward's skull

Pounding pounding

Thump

Thump

Scratch.

Scratch?

His hand made for the layer-barrelled gun and pulled it to his lap, protective like a pet.

Hissss

Tick-tick-tick

_thump_

_Thump._

_Scratch _

Tick?

Tick!

Scratch-_Godammit! _

He sat up and paced the room.

_You're tired, just go down stairs and get some coffee. _Take a pill. _Take a pill or something? _But he didn't move for the door.

He paced …and paced

Clack clack clack. Something was in his boot.

Tick tick

Thump

wheeze

"…_Mmmmmah…"_

Something…? His hand tightened around the metal. This was his good gun. His gun from the old days, that he'd kept hidden. There was a time when he'd dreamt he'd never have to use it. How things changed.

He stopped statue still and listened. In an empty room everything seemed prepared to lunge at him. For no reason he could see, the man was suddenly very

_Tick_

Very

_Tick _

Afraid.

Tick-tick-tick

A breath, long and low…

They-

His armed hand was instantly at the cell door.

-hadn't been making much noise. Not lately.

It was them it was all them. Scratching like rats in there. It was driving him fucking crazy. He could just go in there and shoot that fucker in the head right now. He could. He actually could do exactly that right now. And there was nothing in this world to stop him. He was so exhilarated at the idea, it almost scared him. But he just couldn't… not now. That would be too easy, too quick, too good for the likes of that sick worthless piece of shit!

Tick

Tick

He was getting exhilarated. Groggily, he sat down. Edward couldn't remember that last time he'd slept, or even sat. He picked up the smouldering dogged end of his Borisso cigarette and swept the rest of it's spirits lung-ward.

Monica, little Monica… he never smoked in front of her, or tried not to, or told himself that he tried, something like that. Edward loosened the thought and stretch his hands.

"Mmm"

Hand on your gun, Edward…

"mmmnaugh!" "Mnnnnmmmm Veee! V…"

"Shhhshhshhh…"

"Shut up in there!"

…

Silence.

Silence?

Tick

Tick

Tok.

_Hiss_

hiss

_Hiss_

_Thump _

Thump?

A thought arose, one of a few frequenters, of how when one tries to evade a noise it perused them more then than ever. Is intoxicated fuming ticking hissing mind picked up in irritability like an engine. He felt like a time bomb.

_Thump _

Fucking hell!

"Urrmm" He put a hand to his head.

_Whispering?_

…_whispers…_

"Shut the fuck up!"

BANG!

"Fuck!"

Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit!

Tick tick tick

"Fuck fuck fuck!"

Faintly…_laughing…_

Pfft!

…

Hm!

Shh!

…

"_You're so beautiful when you smile…" _

With out thinking he had the key in hand and was fumbling for the lock.

Scratch

_Thump_

Scratch

"_Rrrm"_

BANG!

BAM!

BANG!

He had one foot in the door and was firing aimlessly into the concrete.

Two pierced the lone Evey's left side before the iron door collided

with Edward's skull and he was hurled loosely to the floor.

The tranquiliser gun clattered across the floor. Edward reached to his thigh for his revolver.

_The good gun, grab the good gun!_

A thick wall of muscle slid itself under Edwards neck and a second pushed his head to the ground.

"V! V don't kill him…" Evey sputtered weakly and then collapsed fully half naked onto the floor.

V held his till he passed out which didn't take long.

His own heavy breathing caught the attention of the terrorist.

He released…

…

Tick

Tick

Tick

_Sigh- _

_Clack _

He turned just in time to…

BANG!

…_Thump _

…_be unconscious again. _


End file.
